Where Angels Fear to Tread
by Royalty09
Summary: In the years following the events of RedEye and Batman Begins, Jackson Rippner is hired by the family of Carmine Falcone to track down and kill a very different sort of target. No LisaJackson pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Despite my best efforts, I still don't own anything associated with Red-Eye and/or Batman Begins….damn!

_This is humiliating_…..

Jackson sat in his black BMW, watching her make her way down the crowded streets of Gotham. She wasn't alone; she was never alone these days, not after what had happened. Two men accompanied her – one, an elderly gentleman with a natural gravitas; the other, a middle aged police officer with his badge readily on display for all to see. The security didn't bother him, he had killed many government officials in his day; Jackson could easily handle these lightweights. What bothered him was the stroller she was pushing.

When he had first begun tailing her three months ago, she was in the final trimester of her pregnancy. The baby girl she pushed now was just two weeks old, a fact that weighed heavily on his conscience.

_I shouldn't even be here; it's beneath me._

Two years ago, he never would have taken a job like this. He was not a lowly bounty hunter or kidnapper; he preferred a more distinguished prey than this. After the debacle on that red-eye flight to Miami, Jackson had become low man on the totem pole. He'd have to endure all these low-profile, shitty jobs until he rebuilt his reputation. If he did well this time around, the powers that be were sure to throw something bigger and better his way.

So, he watched her now, as he always did; carefully getting a feel for her daily routine. He knew all the ins-and-outs of her life; truth be told, there wasn't that much to know. The very nature of her condition dictated she would not be making the rounds at the local night clubs, but this particular job did have a little flair to it, a little pizzazz. The woman he was watching was involved, in some capacity, with a billionaire playboy named Bruce Wayne; he was the one who made sure she had around the clock security. Jackson had no idea if Bruce was the father of the child; they didn't live together as a family and the girl maintained her own apartment, but the nature of their relationship was irrelevant. All Jackson needed to know was who had fathered that child. If it was who he thought it was, then confirming it would be imperative. The birth certificate he had obtained listed the father as unknown. Jackson knew that was a lie; she knew who the father was, and he would get the information from her one way or another.

He lifted the picture of his primary target from the file folder that lay on the passenger seat of his car. Looking at it gave Jackson chills. His resemblance to Jonathan Crane was uncanny; they could have been brothers…twins. He hadn't realized how much they looked alike until he'd tried to walk down Main Street in Gotham for the first time; people had gawked at him, whispered behind his back and crossed to the other side of the street to avoid him. Since then, he stayed mostly in his car. When the need to go out in public arose, he would always do it in disguise – donning a blonde wig and brown contact lenses to conceal his appearance. The startling baby blues he and Crane shared had a way of drawing attention.

The woman with the stroller was not his true target. She was _bait_. Carmine Falcone's family were a vindictive little bunch. They'd come to his agency with their fat wallets and asked them to do what they had deemed impossible – locate and kill Dr. Jonathan Crane. Thanks to Crane, Falcone; the one time patriarch of this infamous family, would now require around the clock, permanent care in a state mental facility; his brain having been reduced to something that closely resembled strawberry jelly. Despite their best efforts, and a huge bounty, no one had been able to find Crane. That's when Jackson had been called in- there was no hiding from _him_. To find your target, you had to _think_ like your target, something Jackson had a knack for.

_I'm inside your head now; I know how you think. I'm going to take her because she's the key, no one is allowed to hurt her but you –isn't that right?_

From the months he had spent carefully gathering information and observing her, he had found a weakness in her security. Every security detail had at least one, and he _always _found it. Despite all she'd been through, she would never let them follow her into the bathroom; not even a female security guard could accompany her.

_Your modesty will be your undoing._

She stopped in front of a department store and turned to the older of the two men. Jackson watched her lips, reading her words.

"I'll be right back," she said with a smile. "You know how I am."

_Yeah, I do. You just had a baby and you **still** need to pee every fifteen minutes._

Jackson could only see the back of the two men's heads, but they took the stroller from her and she waved goodbye, telling them she would be right back.

_Go now…_

His contact lenses already in place, he slipped on his wig and stepped out of the car. He calmly made his way across the street and walked right past the two men. There she was, taking a moment to browse through some sweaters on the clearance rack before making her way to the ladies room. Jackson had to smile at that; here she was, dating a billionaire, and she still shopped clearance. He watched her enter the bathroom and he took a moment to carefully survey his surroundings; no one was looking in his direction presently, so he backed up to the door and quietly slipped inside. She had just walked into the stall and locked it behind her, not even bothering to glance over her shoulder as he entered. Jackson saw the small window to his left; it was just large enough for them to fit through, perfect. Readying himself, he stepped up to the door and kicked it open. She cried out in alarm as he forced his way inside, covering her mouth and nose with a chloroform soaked rag.

_Sorry sweetheart; this isn't personal, it's just business._

**Author's Note: Hi everyone. Here's my little contribution to the world of Red-Eye fan-fiction; I hope you enjoy it.**

**There will be no Lisa/Jackson pairings in this story, in fact, there will be no romance at all; just cat and mouse games between Jonathan Crane and Jackson Rippner. **

**This is a sequel, of sorts, to my other story "Be Still My Beating Heart", but you won't be lost if you haven't read it. Since that story isn't completed yet (I'm almost there) I've had to be careful not to give too much away in this first chapter. I had already said that I would give Vanessa a happy ending in BSMBH, so I thought it would be okay to begin, here we go! (I'm starting to ramble)**

**Again, I hope you enjoy it and please read and review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I still** **don't own Red Eye or Batman Begins**.

Don't fight it; just breathe," he said to her calmly.

She didn't listen to him; they _never_ did. They would always hold their breath for as long as humanly possible, in a vain attempt at avoiding the inevitable. She reached for his face, weakly trying to scratch him, and pulled his wig off in the process.

Jackson saw her eyes widen in horror when she caught her first glimpse of his dark hair. Even with the contact lenses, she had to notice his resemblance to Crane. It sounded to him as though she cried out the word "No," as the air left her lungs.

"I'm not who you think I am. Play your cards right, and you won't get hurt," he told her.

At last, she took a deep breath. Her eyes closed, and she fell limply into his arms. He gently lowered her to the floor and went to work.

Time was of the essence; someone could come through the door at any minute, and it wouldn't be long before her two friends outside would wonder what was keeping her. Jackson loved working under this kind of pressure; thriving on the adrenaline that coursed through his veins.

He placed the 'Closed for Cleaning' sign outside the bathroom door and locked it. As he had expected, the window in the bathroom was not really a window, rather a pane of glass that allowed natural light to filter into the room. A store would never be so kind as to give potential thieves, or kidnappers for that matter, such an easy break. He had come prepared for that contingency; the tricky part would be getting her into his car without being seen. Jackson had known she would have to stop for a bathroom break at some point – he just hadn't been able to predict where. Every time she went out, she stopped at a different place.

He didn't have the privilege of working with a partner anymore, so he would have to do this entirely on his own. He glanced out the window, making sure the alley was deserted before he began. Slipping on a pair of thick gardening gloves, he used a glass cutter to carve out a two-by-two inch square in the center of the window. Jackson carefully covered the deeply etched glass with tape and used the adhesive to pull the loosened piece towards him. The hole he'd just created would serve as a handle when he removed the entire pane. Beginning again, on a larger scale, he cut around the entire edge of the window, gripping the handle as he worked. When he finished, he removed the glass and placed it quietly on the floor. As always, he had timed himself.

Thirty seconds – a personal best.

The woman still lay unconscious on the floor. Her sweater had been pushed up during the melee, exposing her mid-drift, and Jackson moved to cover her, taking notice of an angry scar on the left side of her abdomen, close to her navel. He couldn't help but touch his own battle scar and feel a certain kinship with her.

_Remember what_ _happened the last time you cared_?

He hardened his heart and focused on his work, lifting her up and pushing her feet first through the newly opened window; he followed immediately after and was thankful to find the alley still deserted. There had been a four foot drop from the window, but she did not seem to have been harmed by it.

He placed her in one of the dumpsters, and slipped the wig on again before heading back to his car.

As Jackson crossed the street, he saw the two men still standing in front of the store entrance. They appeared to be getting anxious, and the younger of the two finally went inside. Jackson quickly got into the car and drove back to the alley to retrieve his quarry.

"Sorry about that," he said as he pulled her from the trash. From the smell of things, they would both need showers tonight.

He could hear someone pounding on the bathroom door; a voice was shouting "Vanessa." There was no time to lose. He placed her in the passenger seat of his car and drove away as nonchalantly as possible, resisting the urge to peel out and draw unneeded attention to his vehicle.

From what he could tell, no one was in pursuit of them; it was a clean getaway. What had his colleagues called him? _A_ _has_-_been_. That was bull-shit.

Once they were a safe distance away, Jackson pulled off the wig. He absolutely hated wearing that contemptible thing; the contact lenses weren't much better, but he could not remove them and drive at the same time, not unless he _wanted_ to crash into a telephone pole.

He turned his head and glanced at her again. She was a tiny little thing; just over five feet tall, with black hair and dark eyes. He knew her last name was Martinez, and she appeared to be South American. She was cute; he'd give her that, but she hardly took his breath away, and she certainly wasn't the type of girl commonly seen on the arm of billionaire. Jackson wondered what it was that had Crane and Bruce Wayne so enthralled. Well, they'd be spending a lot of time together; he'd find out soon enough.

She wore a light blue sweater and an ankle length, black wool skirt; a locket hung from around her neck and Jackson ripped it from her. Inside was a picture of her newborn child. It was the first time he had actually seen the infant; she was a spitting image of her mother, with the exception of her pale-blue eyes. Jackson smiled broadly; his question had been answered. Crane couldn't deny this child if he tried.

She stirred softly before her eyes flew open. She lifted her head, and stared at him with eyes as wide as saucers.

"Did you have a nice nap?" he asked sarcastically.

"Jonathan," she started to say before he interrupted.

"Believe me, I'm not Jon Crane - but you're going to help me find him, aren't you? My name's Jackson Rippner, and whatever you do, _don't_ call me Jack."

"What makes you think I can help you?" she asked. Her stare was still unblinking. Clearly, she was having trouble believing her own eyes.

"Vanessa?" Jackson asked. "Have you ever heard of a silent auction?"


	3. Chapter 3

"You're going to sell me?" Vanessa asked in dismay.

"No, I'm not into human trafficking; far too stressful. My goal here is to make sure Crane _thinks_ you're for sale."

Try as she might, Vanessa could not stop looking at this man. There were subtle differences between him and Jonathan, but the resemblance was so close as to be unsettling. She couldn't be entirely sure this really _wasn't_ the good doctor playing some kind of sick game. She would not put it past him to toy with her a bit before making his move, simply for the fun of it.

Although certainly not large in stature, this man, who insisted she call him Jackson, appeared heavier and more solidly built than Jonathan. His voice was markedly different as well. It had a raspy quality to it; as if he were suffering from laryngitis. She had cut Jonathan's face during their last encounter, and had always thought he would have a scar. Jackson's face was untouched; a fact that puzzled her all-the-more.

He took notice of her persistent gaze and turned to her in annoyance.

"Stop looking at me like that. I told you; I'm not Crane."

If this was Jonathan, he'd managed to change his whole personality and demeanor as well. Vanessa doubted he would be able to pull off such a feat, so convincingly, for an extended period of time. It had been said that every person had a twin somewhere in the world; had she found Jonathan's?

They had been on the road for over two hours now. The city was far behind then, and they made their way into the mountains. There were no other cars in sight, no hope at all of being rescued. Vanessa had never been out this way before, and shuddered to think about where he could possibly be taking her.

Other than refusing to stop so she could relieve herself, he was quite accommodating and actively tried to engage her in conversation.

"We're almost there," he said cheerfully. "I think you're going to like it. The views are breathtaking, and I have all the Spaghetti-O's you can eat."

"What?" she asked.

"Spaghetti-O's; your favorite, yes?"

"How could you possibly know that?"

"You're a smart girl Vanessa. Haven't you figured it out? I've been watching you for months; long before you're daughter, Ava, was born. I know everything about you. I've seen police reports, doctor's notes, your therapist's records – I've even seen Crane's files on you….now that, that was interesting reading," he said.

"You know everything about me, and you would still dangle me in front of that monster like a worm on a hook?" she asked in anger.

"Don't be so melodramatic. Just keep your head on straight, and you'll be home with your daughter in no time. I've been hired by Carmine Falcone's family to get rid of Crane. In order to do that, I just need to _borrow_ you for a few days. I promise to bring you back in good condition, as long as you cooperate. Honestly, I thought I'd have your support on this one. Don't you want Crane dead?"

"No one has even seen him in almost a year. What makes you think he'll come out of hiding now?"

"He hasn't been seen by the cops or the average Joe in the past year, Vanessa; there's a difference." Jackson corrected. "He's around. He's running with a rough crowd now, and putting that degree in psychopharmacology to good use. They keep him well paid and well protected, but, if he can be brought out into the open….."

Jackson held up the locket and waved it in front of her face. Vanessa grabbed for it, but he quickly pulled it away.

"You're heartless," Vanessa spat at him.

"I'm just doing my job," he said. "Want to hear something funny? Falcone's family had dozens of hit men just waiting for Crane to show his face in public. Not a day went by that you weren't being watched by one thug or another. They all thought he might come looking for you, but they never thought about _using_ you to draw him out. Crane isn't stupid; you know that. He didn't come after you, because he couldn't. So, the very people who hired me to kill him, were inadvertently protecting both of you. I get a kick out of that," he laughed.

"So, what's your plan?"

"It's simple, really. I get in touch with his network; tell them I have something he might be interested in, then give him a little something to peak his curiosity even more," Jackson smiled again as he placed the piece of jewelry in his pocket. "Crane is the father, isn't he? Don't try to lie; it's obvious. When he sees this, he won't be able to stay away. Why did you have the baby, Vanessa? After all he did to you – I just don't understand."

"Shut up, you horses ass! I don't have to explain myself to you," she yelled.

"Meow, Vanessa. That wasn't very nice," he clutched his hand to his chest as if she'd mortally wounded him, and laughed.

They spent the next forty-five minutes in silence, driving further into the mountains. Civilization as she knew it was gone. The only thing she had seen since they had passed "The Last Chance Convenience Store," forty minutes ago had been pine trees. The spring thaw that had just begun to touch Gotham, was not visible here. The further they drove, the deeper the snow became. Vanessa felt increasingly isolated and despondent. Finally, Jackson broke the silence.

"I commend you, Vanessa. It must be hard raising a child on your own. Don't you have any family in the area?"

"No; my parents died in a car accident a year and a half ago, and my in-laws; former in-laws, I guess, live in Brazil. We were never close to begin with, and I haven't spoken with them since I left Arkham."

"Are you of Brazilian heritage as well?"

"I'm Chilean, actually," she responded.

"Chile? I've been there several times. It's a beautiful country; have you ever been?"

"When I was a kid, we would go as often as time and money allowed," a strange melancholy filled her voice as she reflected on her childhood.

"But you were born in the states?" he asked.

"Yes, my parents moved to America a few years before I has born and…wait; don't you know all this already? I thought you knew _everything_ about me?"

"Just making conversation," he said, and winked at her.

"No; we are not going to do this. You and I are not friends, so can the small talk."

Vanessa could not believe how easily he had been able to draw her out, but she was angrier with herself, than with him. He had an ability to charm that was almost impossible to resist….this could not be Jonathan.

"Suit yourself, but it might interest you to know that we've arrived."

He pulled up to a double wide trailer that seemed to have appeared out of no where. Bringing the car to a full stop, Jackson slipped the keys into his back pocket and got out of the car. He came around to the passenger side, and opened the door for her.

"Here we are. Mi casa es su casa," he said.

Vanessa glared at him as she stepped out of the vehicle. No sooner had she taken two steps, when she lost her footing on the snow covered ground and fell to her knees. She languished there for a moment, before Jackson ordered her to get up.

"I think I twisted my ankle," Vanessa said.

"Give me a break. You're a terrible liar, Vanessa; now, get up," he demanded as he came towards her.

She plunged her hand into the snow, picking up dirt, gravel, anything she could get her hands on, and threw it in his face. He looked stunned for an instant, and then rubbed his eyes frantically.

"God damn it," he cursed, as he ran to the car and knelt before the side view mirror, attending to his now red and watery eyes.

Vanessa hadn't been expecting such an animated or severe response, but she wasted no time taking advantage of the opportunity. She got up and ran back down the road as quickly as her high-heeled shoes and the muddy ground permitted. The road had been cleared of snow; there had to be some one else out here, some other home…somewhere. She began to yell, but no one came to her aid. As she looked over her shoulder, she saw him in the distance, coming after her.

"Somebody, help me!" she screamed as she quickened her pace.

**Author's Note: Special thanks to Not Human, golden peaches, Brego Beauty, empty voices and MyFavoriteOutfitIsAStraightJacket, for your kind reviews and supportive roles. You guys are great!**

**Hopefully, I've stayed true to Jackson's character. I welcome any words of advice you may have. Thanks again!**


	4. Chapter 4

Jackson had found it almost comical when she had thrown the snow in his face. It had seemed like such a childish, desperate act.

Yes; he would have laughed, if a tiny piece of dirt hadn't worked its way under his contact lens, and begun grating against the surface of his eye.

He ran to the closest reflective surface he could find, which happened to be the side view mirror of his car, and knelt in front of it. How could something as small as a grain of sand, cause so much pain? He removed the lenses as quickly as possible, and threw them to the ground. They had served their purpose, and he no longer needed, or wanted them.

Jackson knew she was trying to escape. He could hear her footsteps pounding against the gravel as she called for help. He took a moment to rub his watery eyes, clearing the last remnants of debris, before he gave chase. He could still hear her in the distance; she hadn't gotten far. There was no help for at least twenty miles – let her scream all she wanted. She would find a trailer, or a cabin, here and there, but, until the snow melted and the lakes thawed, she would not find another living soul. Jackson was more concerned at the prospect of losing her in the woods somehow. With the way she was dressed, she wouldn't last long once the sun went down, and he still needed her.

As he continued his pursuit, she quickly came into view. Thankfully, she had not strayed from the road, and remained in plain sight. Somehow becoming aware of his presence, she looked over her shoulder and saw him coming after her. She gave a single, wordless cry before quickening her pace. Jackson admired her fighting spirit, but this was all pointless. There was no way she could hope to outdistance him, especially not in heels, and he found himself closing the gap quickly.

He went off the trail and into the woods, pushing his way through the snow with the intent of cutting her off at the pass. He found himself enjoying the moment a bit too much; he loved the thrill of the hunt, and was eager to see the look of shock on her face when he eventually reappeared on the road, this time in _front_ of her.

She froze in her tracks when she turned around and saw that he had vanished. He was careful to do the same; everything was quiet. Jackson crouched in one of the sparse sections of brush that peppered the mountain side this time of year, and listened. He could hear her heavy breathing; he watched every move she made. She was looking in all directions, and took a few uneasy steps forward. Each step brought her closer to where he lay in wait.

_That's_ _right_….

She stepped into the woods, still searching for any sign of him.

_Almost there; don't look down yet._

She was so close, just a few feet away. He could see her breath, hear her teeth chatter, and see her shiver from the cold.

_Just a little closer_….

She was practically standing over him, and still could not see him. Her eyes were searching into the distance, not even taking notice of what was right in front of her. Couldn't she feel his eyes on her?

_One_ _more_ _step._

She froze again suddenly, scanned all around her, and dropped to her knees….right beside him.

_This does make a nice hiding place, doesn't it?_

Jackson waited for her to look over her shoulder. When her eyes widened in panic at the sight of him, he couldn't help but smile.

"Fancy meeting you here," he laughed, as he pounced on her before she even had a chance to scream.

She fought him with all her strength, successfully driving her knee into his groin. He'd been kicked in the groin before; he had learned to steel himself against it, and did not allow the pain to halt his efforts to subdue her. Most unexpectedly, she followed up with several focused shots to his ribs that took his breath away.

_Shit, that hurts. Who taught you that?_

She rolled out from under him and stumbled back onto the trail, running in the direction of the trailer. What was she thinking? He quickly caught up to her and grabbed her roughly by the arm.

"Wait, wait…..look; no hard feelings, okay? Just drop me off at the nearest pay phone, and I won't tell anyone about this. You have my word," she promised.

"That's a tempting offer, Vanessa. I believe you, really, I do," he said sarcastically. "But you know that's not possible."

"People are going to be looking for me. You'll be caught eventually; this is your last chance."

Did she actually think she had some control over the situation? Now _that_ was funny.

"Let them look, Vanessa," he said. "Let them check the store surveillance tapes and put out an APB on a man with blonde hair and brown eyes. Let them look for the black BMW. After today, it will never be seen on the road again. No one is coming to your rescue; you're here, until I bring you home."

Her struggling ceased; she appeared to be acquiescent.

"Come on," he said. "We'll go to the trailer, warm up a bit, have dinner…it won't be so bad."

The second he let go of her arm; she punched him in the jaw. He hadn't been expecting that, and literally felt his teeth rattle. She packed quite a punch for such a small woman.

Once again, the chase was on, and once again, it didn't last long. When he caught her for the third time, he spun her around, feeling an almost uncontrollable surge of anger. He raised his hand, prepared to strike her. After all the damage she had inflicted on him, it was only fair.

"Listen to me, you little…"

Something about the way she braced for the blow stayed his hand. She looked away and closed her eyes. She was on the verge of hyperventilating and her whole body trembled, not just from the cold this time - she was scared to death.

Jackson thought back to the police and medical reports he had read on her. He knew the horrible circumstances that had brought her into Crane's care in the first place; how Crane had betrayed her trust – using her and his other patients as guinea pigs for his now infamous fear toxin. The man was a lunatic, who had delighted in terrifying and torturing her, first at Arkham, and eventually in her own home. The graphic details of these encounters were only just beginning to come out in her therapy sessions.

Jackson looked at her face once again. It was obvious to him that she was not a stranger to extreme physical violence. Well, he was not Crane, and refused to stoop to that level; not unless _she_ left him no other alternative.

He was taking pity on her, and that was not acceptable either. He dropped his arm back to his side and circled her, while she stood watching intently. There were other ways to intimidate her, and enforce the point that further escape attempts simply would not be tolerated. Looking into his now blue-eyed gaze seemed to have unnerved her. Jackson could see it in her eyes – she doubted his true identity again, and he decided to play to her fears. He smiled wickedly, and continued circling her in a predatory manner.

Her tearful eyes watched him with anticipation and apprehension as he maneuvered his way behind her. Suddenly, and without warning, he threw a sweeping kick to the backs of her legs, causing her knees to buckle. The instant she fell to her knees, he was on her, wrapping his arms around her, and forcing her neck into the crook of his elbow. He had her in a classic choke hold, with no where to go.

Her body was cold to the touch, and he felt her involuntarily press into him for warmth. He encouraged it, wrapping his free arm around her waist and pulling her even closer. He pressed his mouth against her ear, letting her feel his hot breath against her skin.

Jackson gave her throat a brief, but firm preemptive squeeze, and this time, she didn't even try to fight him.

"I'm a trained assassin, Vanessa. What? Did your rich boyfriend teach you a couple self defense moves, and now you think you can take me on? Is that it?" he asked her, letting his voice become as raspy as possible.

"Please, I just want to go home," she pleaded.

"I can't let you fuck this up for me, sweetheart. I have too much riding on the outcome. You _will_ get up, and you _will_ go into that trailer, or, I promise you, you will never see your daughter again, and whatever Crane did to you – I'll make it seem like a fond memory."

He gave her neck one last hard squeeze before releasing her. She fell to the ground face first, coughing violently. She looked unsteady on her feet, but stood up and began walking when he ordered her to do so.

"There's no television, no phone; just a radio; I suggest we try to get along, or it's going to be a long week," he told her.

She dropped her head in defeat, refusing to respond to him. That was fine; he'd heard enough out of her for a while. Jackson felt confident he had her full cooperation, but still made sure she never got more than two steps ahead of him as they walked to his humble abode.

**Author's Note: I hope you all enjoy the latest chapter of my little story. Please read and review…thanks a bunch**!


	5. Chapter 5

Vanessa entered the trailer reluctantly, while Jackson watched her every move; no doubt expecting her to run again at any moment. The thought was tempting, she had to admit, but pointless. When they reached the front door, she took the time to survey her surroundings. The BMW remained where they'd left it, but, for the first time, she noticed the red Ford Escape, parked at the opposite end of the home.

The trailer seemed more of a bunker than anything else; the perfect place to keep people out, or in, as the case may be. Every window was barred; the front door contained no glass, and no wood paneling of any kind to make it look welcoming; it was simply a flat piece of steel, with a keypad instead of a standard lock. Vanessa had the feeling that this was only the beginning of the security features that could be found in this home.

Jackson stood in front of the touchpad, blocking her view as he entered the access code. When the door opened, he grabbed her by the shoulders, and pushed her over the threshold. Only when they were both inside, and the door had been shut and locked behind them, did he visibly relax. She was standing in what appeared to be the living room, furnished only with a sofa, coffee table, and two floor lamps. Vanessa could see into the dining room and kitchen; they seemed to be decorated in the same sparse fashion.

"We're the only ones here; there's no one else?" she asked.

"What were you expecting, a welcoming committee? One target, one assassin, that's how it works these days." Jackson responded.

She looked at him, unable to hide her anxiety.

"What are you so afraid of anyway?" he asked. "Is it the toxin? Trust me; I can hold my breath long enough to fire a bullet."

"That's not it," Vanessa said.

"Then what's the problem? Are you afraid I'm going to let him have a go at you before I take him out? That's not my style, Vanessa."

"It's your arrogance; your arrogance frightens me. I think you're underestimating him, and if this goes wrong…well, I don't even want to think about what will happen."

"I don't underestimate people. When he gets here, it will be over with quickly. He won't lay a hand on you; I promise. You won't even have to see him, unless you want to. Is that what you want? Do you want to see him die?" Jackson asked.

"No," Vanessa said.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't hold it against you if you did."

"No, Jackson. I don't want to see him again …I just can't."

Their eyes met again, an awkward silence ensued. Jackson coughed violently, breaking that silence. Vanessa watched as he rubbed his throat gingerly. For the first time, she saw the small, circular scar in the center of his neck. He caught her staring, even before she had a chance to look away.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you, it's rude to stare?" he asked.

"How did it happen?"

"I was overly compassionate…unprofessional," Jackson said.

"That's shocking; you being compassionate with anyone, I mean," Vanessa said.

"Don't worry; it hadn't happened before, and it won't happen again."

"So, who was she?" Vanessa asked.

Jackson raised his eyebrows, impressed with her intuition.

"What makes you think it was a woman?" he asked.

"It's always a woman," Vanessa said. "Or money…isn't that what makes a man's world go round?"

"Touché," Jackson responded.

"So, who was she?" Vanessa repeated.

"A means to an end, much like you. All she had to do was fulfill one simple task, but she insisted on fighting me every step of the way. Now she and her father are dead, and I'm here, baby sitting a spoiled brat, and bumping off crazy psychiatrists."

Ignoring the insult, Vanessa said, "You killed her."

"No, _I_ didn't. That was the work of my associates. I was lying on the floor with two bullets in my abdomen and this lovely hole in my wind pipe, courtesy of her and her dad. My co-workers showed up, put a couple bullets in the back of their heads, and got me out of there about thirty seconds before the police arrived."

"You sound disappointed," Vanessa observed.

"If anyone had a reason to kill her, it was me. Looking back, she didn't deserve it; she beat me, fair and square. I'm the one who should have taken a gun shot to the back of the head, not her. That's the typical price for failure in this business."

"So, why didn't they kill you too?" Vanessa asked.

"That was by boss's sick joke. He decided to let me live. Now he can watch me scrounge for the shitty jobs no one else wants - he gets to watch the people I used to manage, treat me like something they scraped off their shoe, and, once a month, he has a box of soap-on-a-rope delivered to me as a reminder that if I screw up again, he'll make sure I end up in prison," Jackson laughed sardonically. 'With your pretty face, they'll be loving you from dusk till dawn'; that's what he always says."

"And yet, you still serve these people loyally. Don't you find that a bit disturbing?" Vanessa asked.

"No more disturbing then you forfeiting your life because of the actions of one man," he responded.

"What?"

"You heard me. I've watched you, Vanessa. You're going no where in life. You've got this guy, a billionaire, who's head over heels in love with you, and you don't even give him a chance. You hardly ever leave your apartment, you live in fear, and you have no life. Crane may not be able to touch you physically, but he still runs the show, doesn't he?"

"You're right, Jackson. It's all in the past; what's a little rape between a psychiatrist and his patient? I should get over it, and move on," she said sarcastically. "Believe me, I wish I could; but in order to do that, to tell myself that none of it mattered, I'd have to be dead inside; like Jonathan….like you."

He stood up, choosing to ignore her last comment.

"Let's go into the bedroom and get you out of those clothes," he said.

"What?" Vanessa asked again nervously, as he motioned for her to follow him.

He turned to her, what little patience he had left, was almost gone, "Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. Frankly, you're not my type. Maybe if you grow a few inches, and drop ten pounds, we can talk."

"You're making fun of my height, midget? Don't you think you're a bit short to be an assassin?" Vanessa asked, looking him up and down. "Tell me, when you get your hair cut, who holds the bowl?"

If she didn't know better, she would have sworn he smiled faintly before he turned his back to her.

She took notice of the doors located on either side of the living room, and assumed they both led to bedrooms. Jackson led her to the door on the left. The bedroom they entered was tiny; the twin sized bed and nightstand practically filled the room, but she assumed this had to be the master bedroom, since it had its own bathroom. Jackson opened the closet door and removed a pair of black sweat pants, and a blue sweatshirt that zippered up the front. He threw them in her general direction, and they landed on the floor, by her feet.

"It's not much, but it's good enough," he said. "Meet me in the kitchen when you finish changing."

He stormed out of the room and shut the door behind him. If the door itself were not so cheaply made, Vanessa was sure it would have slammed. Something she had said had gotten to him. He wasn't just angry; he seemed offended. Their relationship was quickly turning acrimonious, and Vanessa got the feeling that her new roommate didn't like her very much…what a shame.

She didn't have the energy to worry about that now. Instead, she peeled off her wet articles of clothing, and left them in a pile on the floor. Vanessa could hear Jackson in the living room, pacing. Deciding she wanted another door between them, especially while she was clad in nothing but her underwear, she stepped into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.

When she came out, less than two minutes later, the clothes she had left on the floor were gone. Jackson had come and gone, and she had not heard a thing.

She walked into the kitchenand foundhim opening a can of Spaghetti-O's. She crinkled her nose as he removed the lid and poured the contents into a pan.

"I thought you loved Spaghetti-O's?" he asked.

"Everybody thinks that," she said. "For some reason, the contents of my pantry were deemed news worthy. When I was in the hospital, people kept sending me cases of them as a 'get well' gift. I didn't have the heart to say anything….I hate Spaghetti-O's." she laughed. "It's my husband who loves them…loved them."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she quickly turned away from Jackson.

"Vanessa," he said softly.

His cell phone rang suddenly, breaking yet another awkward silence.

"Yeah?" he asked.

Vanessa kept her back to him, but listened intently to this one sided conversation.

"I'll be there in forty-five minutes. Yeah, I've got her right here."

Jackson hung up the phone and smiled at her.

"Change of plans. Dinner is on hold, I have an appointment, I'm afraid."

"Where are we going?" Vanessa asked.

"_We're_ not going anywhere. You're staying here, and I'm going to pick up our supplies, and deliver the locket to an associate of mine, he, in turn, will make sure it finds its way into Crane's hands."

"You're just going to leave me here, by myself?"

He pulled a set of hand cuffs from his back pocket, "I'm confident you'll stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

Feeling anxiety at the prospect of being cuffed, Vanessa began to back away.

"Don't start with me, Vanessa. I'm not in the mood to play games," he menaced.

Vanessa decided now was not the time to pick a fight with him. She went with him willingly to the master bathroom and allowed him to shackle her to the drain pipe of the sink. He left momentarily, only to return with a Polaroid camera.

"Smile," he ordered, as he fired off two pictures.

Vanessa glared at him in disgust. For a brief moment, she had thought there might be a human being in there somewhere; apparently, she was wrong.

"Very nice; the good doctor will be quite excited when he sees these," Jackson said as the pictures developed. "How much do you think you're worth, Vanessa? I'm thinking $500 thousand. It's a tricky business, this ransom thing. I have to make you affordable, but, if you're too cheap, he's going to know something is up. Yeah, $500 thousand sounds about right."

"I wouldn't pretend to know about these matters," Vanessa said flatly.

He smirked at her, "Aren't we high-and-mighty?" he laughed. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. Maybe I'll stop by that little convenience store on the way back and get a bottle of wine: wine and Spaghetti-O's…food of the god's."

Jackson left the room, and Vanessa could hear him fumbling with his car keys. The front door shut and, shortly after, she heard a car pulling away. Vanessa sat there quietly, making certain he was truly gone before she braced her feet against the wall, and threw herself back with all her strength. The hand cuffs dug into her wrists; she heard metal scraping against metal. She had no idea if she would be able to dislodge the pipe, but she had a little less than two hours to find out.

**Author's Note: Looks like Vanessa is getting under Jackson's skin a bit. There's still no chance of romance, but it's important that they develop a rapport; a mutual respect, if you will, before Jonathan shows up. I might have to change the rating of this story as well – Jonathan is coming soon, and things are going to get ugly.**

**Anyway, I hope everyone is still enjoying the story. Let me know what you think, and thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. **


	6. Chapter 6

It was all so frustrating. Vanessa could hear the ticking of the clock, but could not see the time. It felt like she'd been in that bathroom for an eternity, and at the same moment, she felt rushed. She strained against the rusty pipe until her wrists began to swell and her shoulders ached, but it would not budge.

She had a flimsy plan in her mind; a plan that depended on a lot of "ifs" and "mights". _If_ she could dislodge the pipe, she _might_ be able to find the keys to the BMW (assuming he'd left them behind). _If_ she found the keys, she _might_ be able to find a way out of this trailer. _If_ she got out, she _might_ be able to escape…_if_ he didn't get back before she had a chance to make her getaway.

Vanessa looked closely at the pipe, trying to see if she'd made any progress. Upon inspection, things did not look promising. Deciding to give it one more shot, she braced her feet against the wall and pulled as hard as she could. Her muscles ached under the strain, and she felt her last vestige of strength quickly being sapped. In that moment of utter hopelessness, a vision of her daughters face flashed before her eyes.

Her daughter; Vanessa could not change the circumstances that had brought her into this world, but that did not change the fact that she was Vanessa's reason for living. This child was the last pure relationship in her life; a relationship built on a foundation of unconditional love and trust.

A surge of adrenalin rushed through her. Under its power, she felt her strength increase twofold. She cried out with the increased effort, and soon the sound of screeching metal was her reward. The pipe came loose; she was free.

Vanessa sprung to her feet and ran into his bedroom. The clock read 8:00 p.m. - hadn't he left just before 6:00? He must have stopped at the store after all.

_Buy all the wine you want, asshole. I hope you like to drink alone._

For some strange reason, Vanessa believed him when he said he had no intention of handing her over to Jonathan. She believed his story about being hired by Falcone's family; but when she told him she was concerned about his arrogance, she meant it. Jackson was too damned cocky. He wouldn't just shoot Jonathan on site. He'd have to get in a few snide remarks first. That's just the way he was, and the last thing you wanted to give a man like Jonathan, was time.

Jonathan would know immediately that something was wrong. He could read people in an instant. That was his talent; his former career. Putting her future in Jackson's hands was too risky. She had to get out of here. It was now, or never.

Vanessa searched through his bedroom, throwing the contents of the closet and drawers on the floor. She pulled the sheets from the bed, looked under the mattress and under the bed. She searched _everywhere_. The keys were no where to be found.

Her searched continued into the kitchen. If the keys were not here, perhaps she could find a weapon of some kind. No such luck. She found only paper plates and plastic eating utensils; other than the small pan on the stove, there was nothing that could conceivably be used as a weapon.

Vanessa's search went on. She ransacked every inch of that trailer; leaving the place in a shambles. She knew that, by doing this, she had raised the stakes. Getting out of here was more important than ever. When Jackson came home to this mess, he would not be pleased.

Something brought her back to his bedroom. She stood in the middle of the room, looking for inspiration, but feeling nothing but defeat. She'd come so far, only to have her hopes dashed. In anger, she picked up the radio on the nightstand beside his bed, and threw it against the wall. Vanessa stared at the broken pieces on the floor. She turned back and kicked the nightstand, hearing a metallic rattle when she did so. Looking down, she saw the keys; he'd hidden them under the radio. Delighted, she scooped them up and ran to the front door.

Vanessa grasped the handle and tried to open the door – it was locked. For the first time, she noticed the keypad on the inside of the door. A code was required to get out as well as in.

_A window, break a window._

She ran through the trailer, desperately trying to find a window that wasn't barred; there were none. There had to be some other way out of here. She needed time to think.

To her horror, she heard a car door shut. Heavy footsteps approached the front door; Jackson was back.

Vanessa ran to the bedroom in a panic, searching for a place to hide; the closet, under the bed? No, too obvious. She went back to the kitchen as she heard the door opening.

_Time's_ _up_.

There was only one place left to go. Vanessa opened the cabinet doors under the sink, relieved to find them empty. She crawled inside, thankful, for once, of her small size. All those years of never being able to reach anything on the top shelf were finally paying off.

"Hey, I know you don't like Spaghetti-O's, so I got you….." Jackson's voice trailed off as he noticed the mess.

Vanessa heard him curse and something dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. He immediately ran to the bathroom where he'd left her. She dared to open the cabinet door a crack and saw that he'd left the front door open. .

"Vanessa? Come out; come out, wherever you are!"

Vanessa quietly crawled out from underneath the sink and padded across the kitchen floor, clutching the keys in her hand. She would have to pass his bedroom on the way to the front door; silence was of the essence.

She crept past the door and saw him peaking under the bed. As her foot hit the ground again, the floor creaked. He looked up quickly and their eyes met. He was up and after her in an instant; the look in his eyes could only be described as animalistic. Vanessa ran, keeping her focus on the door, ignoring the thundering steps behind her.

Jackson caught her in the living room and slammed her into the door. She heard it lock as she collided with it.

"No!" she yelled in despair.

"I hope you enjoy cleaning, Vanessa; because you'll be doing a lot of it tonight, as soon as you cook my dinner and poor my wine," he sneered.

"Like hell," Vanessa said defiantly.

"You broke my sink and you smashed my radio. How else are you going to pay off your debt?" He held her face in his hands, forcing her to look directly at him. "What else can you give me that I might be interested in? Should I make you work it off in trade?"

"You won't do it. You don't have the balls."

"Oh really?" he asked, pressing his body against hers. "The difference between Crane and I…I'll make you love it. You'll beg for more. I can put a bag over your head if you want. I read in your file that you've had a lot of experience with autoerotic asphyxiation. Which brand do you prefer; Glad, or Hefty?"

Vanessa clenched the car keys tightly. At this point, they were her only weapon.

"Fuck you, Jack….ass," she screamed, and drove the key hatefully into that scar on his neck; even managing to pierce the skin.

Jackson yelped, before exploding in a rage. He backhanded her, knocking her to the floor. Before she knew it, she'd been picked up and slammed against the wall. Jackson grabbed the keys from her hand and shoved her backwards. She stumbled through the door of his bedroom and landed on the floor again, unable to break her fall with her hands cuffed in front of her.

Jackson stormed into the room after her, shutting the door behind him. He unzipped his jacket and threw it on the bed.

"You want to play dirty with me, sweetheart?" he asked as he rolled up his sleeves. "That's fine. I can play _real_ dirty."


	7. Chapter 7

Jackson threw Vanessa face first onto the mattress, pinning her under the weight of his body. Grabbing a fist full of her hair, he forced her head back.

"I was good to you, Vanessa. I brought you food, water…clothing. This didn't have to get ugly, but you just had to keep pushing, didn't you?"

He climbed off of her momentarily and looked down at her pathetic, unmoving form.

"Now that I think of it; these belong to me," he said as he grabbed the elastic waist of her sweatpants and pulled them from her body.

"Don't," she pleaded, when she managed to roll over.

"Don't? Violence is the only language you seem to understand. How else am I going to get my point across? Consider yourself lucky that you have those cuffs on, or I'd take the shirt as well. I'm tempted to cut if off of you, but there's no sense ruining _my_ shirt."

He watched her as she slowly tried to inch away from him. She was frightened, that was readily apparent, but it still wasn't enough. _He_ wasn't satisfied yet.

Vanessa had worked her way to the edge of the bed. What she was hoping to accomplish was beyond him. He grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her back towards him. She cried out when he grasped the zipper and pulled it down, opening the sweatshirt. Only her arms remained covered. She lay in front of him, clad only in her underwear, completely helpless.

"Good enough," he said. "It's not your arms I'm interested in anyway."

He slowly climbed on top of her, his lips were inches from her own. She turned away from him and he pressed his mouth against her cheek.

"Still think I'm a nice guy underneath it all? What makes you think I won't use you like those men who broke into your house…like Crane? Is that why you don't give Bruce Wayne a chance? He's not rough enough for you; is that what it is?"

Jackson made a point of loosening his belt as loudly as possible. Slowly, he unzipped his pants, watching her face the whole time. Her eyes were vacant; they stared unblinking at the ceiling.

"Where's your sarcasm now, Vanessa? You're awfully quiet."

He waved his belt in front of her eyes.

"Hello in there. Wake up, Vanessa. I need your help with something. Tell me how Crane used his belt – didn't he have you lie on your stomach when he wrapped it around your neck? I don't know…..that's not my taste, really. I'm the kind of guy who values eye contact. It tells me everything I need to know. Right now, your eyes are telling me you're scared shitless."

Jackson folded the belt in half and ran it along the length of her body.

"We can still have a little fun though. I could give you a spanking," he teased, as he tapped the belt lightly against her leg. "There's so much I could do, Vanessa."

"You don't have to hurt me," Vanessa finally said. "I don't care what you do. Just get it over with and get it out of your system. I won't fight you."

"You're bluffing, sweetheart. I don't believe that for a second," he countered.

He looked at her face again. Her eyes were glassy, but she did not cry.

_Stubborn girl…_

Out of the blue, his stomach growled; a long, audible gurgle that made him laugh.

"Tonight is your lucky night, Vanessa. The basic need to survive always overrides the need to procreate, and I _am_ starving right now. I think I'll have a bite to eat before we begin."

He reached into his back pocket and removed the key to her handcuffs. Briefly un-cuffing one wrist, he held her arm down as he looped the cuffs through the slotted head board.

_That should hold you in place. Try to get out of this one._

"I'll be back, Vanessa. Don't you go anywhere," he said with a wink.

He shut off the lights and closed the door behind him, leaving her cuffed to the bed in total darkness.

**Author's Note: It's a short chapter, I know. Jackson isn't quite finished with her yet, but the pause helps build tension. I plan to have chapter 8 up within the next 2-3 days.**

**Thanks for the wonderful reviews. You guys are the best!**


	8. Chapter 8

Jackson brought his fingers up to the cut on his throat and they came away bloody. He marched into the spare bathroom next to what should have been Vanessa's bedroom, and turned on the light. He was not looking forward to what he was about to see, but assessing the damage was his top priority.

It was only a scratch. It hurt like hell, and bled a lot; but that's all it was. The realization did nothing to tame his anger however, and he cursed her as he cleansed the wound with rubbing alcohol.

It was a low blow on her part. She had gone too far, and he would make her regret having done it before the night was through.

Jackson took a brief moment to collect himself; clearing his mind before he made any rash decisions.

He thought back to the recent exchange he'd had with the cashier at the convenience store, just before he'd gone back to the trailer.

_It had been an elderly gentleman, who had watched Jackson buy everything in twos and smiled knowingly when he started browsing through the small wine section. Jackson decided to grab a small bouquet of flowers to keep up the charade. No need to rouse suspicion; even though the flowers were overpriced, wilted, and nothing he would ever bring a woman he was actually trying to romance._

"_I hope you have someone special waiting for you at home on this cold night" the man had said._

"_Yeah, I do. I keep her chained to the sink so she doesn't leave me," he laughed._

"_Well, I hope the two of you have a lovely evening," he said, taking Jackson's comment as a joke. _

_**I never lie.**_

"_Take care of that sore throat," the man yelled after him._

Shaking his head, Jackson picked up the grocery bag he'd dropped on the floor when he had arrived home. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the bag and unscrewed the cap.

_Ahhh, nothing says quality in a wine, like a screw off cap._

He preferred the higher quality brands, and considered himself a connoisseur of fine wines, but there was no way he was going to keep a corkscrew around - not while that little monster was staying with him. Jackson drank from the bottle heartily, hoping it would quell his mood. It didn't; the stuff was vile.

He unpacked the contents of the bag – pasta, alfredo sauce, two additional bottles of wine, and two fresh sandwiches. Jackson had gotten one for each of them, but he ate them both out of spite. She could starve for all he cared. If she got hungry, she could eat the damn flowers.

Looking at the mess in the kitchen, he was thankful he didn't keep very many things on hand, after all, he rarely came up here, and there wasn't much need to keep the place fully stocked. Cleaning up wouldn't take that much time, but just the fact that she'd done it, pissed him off. He had gone out of his way to do something nice for her, out of the kindness of his heart; this was how she chose to repay him.

Jackson walked over to the kitchen sink and poured half the bottle of wine down the drain before making his way to the bedroom door. He stumbled inside, waving the bottle around and causing a commotion. Hopefully, she'd think he was drunk.

Vanessa woke with a start; apparently, she had dozed off while he'd been away. He closed the door and staggered over to the bed, turning on the lamp when he reached the nightstand.

"Hi," he said, exhaling heavily, making sure she caught a whiff of the alcohol on his breath.

Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the floor. His shoes and socks followed. Jackson made a point of leisurely removing each article of clothing and showing it to her, before dropping it to the floor. Was she appreciative of his little strip tease? Doubtful; the girl had no sense of humor. He continued the process until he stood naked before her. Vanessa whimpered a bit and tried to get as far away from him as possible.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you, I sleep in the nude?" he laughed, as he climbed into bed next to her.

Jackson pulled the covers over the two of them, and stroked her face gently. She was trying to keep her cool, putting on a brave front. He'd enjoy tearing down this false bravado.

"We're not so different, you and I," he told her. "We're both just a couple of lonely people, trying to put our lives back together. Come on, Vanessa; can't you give a lonely guy a break?"

He rolled on top of her and she began to struggle violently. He pinned her arms down, denying what little range of motion the cuffs allowed.

"Stop playing games with me. What do you want?" she asked defiantly.

"Well, I've had my warm glass of milk; I guess I want my good night kiss."

"So kiss me, I can't stop you."

"My point exactly; I can kiss you whenever I want. What I want is for _you_ to kiss _me_."

"No," Vanessa said bluntly.

"Just a kiss – that's all I want. Give me that, and I'll leave you alone. If not, well….you can imagine how upset I'll be, and then who knows what I'll do."

Vanessa looked at him for a moment, regarding him with blatant mistrust. Eventually, she lifted her head and gave him a quick peck on the lips. She looked like she wanted to throw up. He repulsed her, plain and simple; just what he was hoping for.

"There; now leave me alone," she said.

"What was that? My four year old niece kisses me like that. You'll have to try harder, Vanessa. Put a little passion into it."

Her lips curled as they met his again in an open mouth kiss. It was more of a bite than anything else, filled with aggression. Their teeth gnashed together; each time he tried to force his tongue into her mouth, she would block him with her teeth, or try to bite him. He was forced to dart in and out, while this sparring match progressed. It was a kiss filled with years of pent up anger and frustration; both his and hers. The feeling was so intense, it threatened to devour him, and he found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

It was going on far longer than he had expected, but this had ceased to be a kiss long ago. This was a battle of wills and Jackson did not intend to lose. If she wouldn't break away, he sure as hell wouldn't.

He found himself melting into her. His hands that had once held her struggling arms at bay, began to travel down her body. His fingers skimmed across the front of her panties. This flimsy piece of fabric was all that separated the two of them.

_It would be so easy to just push that fabric aside and…._

Jackson grasped the elastic by her inner thigh and pulled it towards him. Vanessa's body immediately tensed and she broke the kiss.

"You said you wouldn't," she began to say.

He pulled his hand away, letting the elastic snap against her thigh.

He pressed his index finger against her lips. "Shhh," he whispered.

"You promised me," she continued. Her face was flushed, and the panic was evident in her voice.

His next kiss landed on the corner of her mouth as she turned away from him at the last second. His tongue lazily traced a path along her jaw, as her struggling began anew. Jackson could feel the scream building within her, as she thrashed desperately beneath him.

He buried his face in her hair, drawing a deep breath, before exhaling with a heavy sigh. Pressing his mouth against her ear he said,

"Relax, sweetheart. I think I just called your bluff. Don't try to tell me that you don't care about what happens to you. Behave yourself from now on, or we _will_ finish this."

She closed her eyes tightly and tears spilled down her face. Finally, she began to cry. Was it out of fear, or relief, he wondered.

"Sweet dreams, Vanessa," he said as he rolled onto his side, draping an arm and leg across her body and resting his head on her chest.

Jackson could both hear and feel the pounding of her heart. He drifted off to sleep, holding her close to him as he listened to the sound of her sobbing gently. He was a lot of things, but he was no rapist; not that Vanessa had to know his true intentions.

All in all, it had been a good evening. He'd gotten his point across and her self imposed chastity remained intact. He was satisfied with the outcome.

**Author's Note: Hold onto your seats! Jonathan is going to enter the story via telephone, in the next chapter.**


	9. Chapter 9

The sunlight pouring through the window was what woke him from his peaceful slumber. During the chaos that had been last night, he'd forgotten to draw the shades.

Jackson stayed in bed next to her, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He'd never woken up next to anyone before. The women he went home with always found themselves alone in the morning. Vanessa was his first.

Oddly enough, she hadn't woken up during the night; not even once. Her files stated she suffered from insomnia, but she had slept like a log last night, and the sunlight did nothing to disturb her sleep.

He climbed out of bed quietly; not wanting to wake her just yet. His attitude toward her had softened a bit during the night. Jackson was sure she'd be a little terror when she woke up, but for now, at least, she looked peaceful.

He had just pulled on his boxer shorts, and was reaching for his pants when she spoke, startling him.

"You're no better than the rest of them," she scolded. "You dress flashy and you try to pretend you're some kind of hotshot assassin, but you're no better than Jonathan, or any of the other murderers and rapists out there."

She was staring at him, but not his face. Her gaze was focused on his numerous scars. She looked at the two bullet wounds on his chest, before her eyes drifted lower; falling on what she no doubt thought was a peculiar scar on his thigh. She shook her head, regarding him with disgust.

"Rapists, Vanessa? You know; I'm really getting tired of you using that word," he said as he stalked towards her. "Crane's tastes were unconventional; I'll give you that, but you never said no to him the whole time you were at Arkham…not even once. Don't forget, I saw your therapist's files. By your own admission, you asked him to father that child. Can't fault a man for giving a woman what she wants."

Vanessa's jaw dropped. As he fished the key to her handcuffs out of his pants and released her, she began to yell,

"He was my doctor. I was his patient. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to give consent. How could you even say something like that?"

"You're thirty-three years old, Vanessa," Jackson yelled back. "You're not a kid, so don't try to give me the excuse that you…couldn't…give…consent"

He had torn the blanket away from her, and was about to tell her to get up and get dressed, when he saw them. His voice halted and, ultimately, trailed off. The marks on her inner right thigh stood out as clear as day; white, jagged marks, against her tan skin. There were five of them. The first was located just above the knee. They traveled upward; each one the same length and the same distance apart. Whoever had done this had been methodical, precise…ritualistic. The cuts themselves were jagged, made by a knife with a serrated edge. His eyes followed them, until he came to the last scar, partially obscured by her underwear. He couldn't imagine her ever having consented to something like that; not based on what he knew of her.

She sat up, turning away from him and hiding the marks on her body.

"Did he do that to you?" Jackson asked, as he looked at her accusingly.

"No; I did it," Vanessa said.

"You did it?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes," she insisted.

"Self mutilation…I don't think so."

"Well, it's the truth. It's not that uncommon with survivors of abuse. Chose to believe it, or not, makes no difference to me," she said sadly.

Jackson stared down at her. He didn't miss the fact that she refused to make eye contact with him. Her tone of voice, her body language; everything about her, told him she was lying. He felt another surge of anger well up within him. Anger that he had missed an important detail about her past, and anger that she was now trying to keep information from him, despite all of his prior warnings.

"Either you're lying to me, or you're really screwed up. For your sake, you had better not be lying," he threatened.

She looked up at him. In her eyes, he could see nothing but pain; a kind of tormented anguish that would later haunt him. She looked as if she were about to speak.

"I don't ask much of you, Vanessa. Stop lying to me. This is your last chance to come clean," he told her.

Vanessa looked back down at the floor; she seemed unable to look at him as she spoke,

"I don't need to come clean."

"You're nothing but a liar, Vanessa."

He had just grabbed her chin and turned her to face him, when he heard his cell phone ring.

"Just get dressed," he ordered as he raced into the kitchen, grabbing the phone off the kitchen counter.

He noticed that caller ID was not displaying the number. Then again, it never did. He wondered why he even bothered looking.

Jackson knew who was calling anyway. He had several Pay-As-You-Go phones at his disposal. He used them often. They could not be easily traced, and could be replaced quickly. He had given Crane the number to only one such phone.

"Dr. Crane, so nice to hear from you," Jackson said.

"Mr. Rippner; I hear you have something that belongs to me."

"If you're willing to buy, I'm willing to sell," Jackson responded, noting that the sound of Crane's voice made if feel as if the temperature in the trailer had dropped twenty degrees.

"I have some questions that need to be answered first," Crane said.

"You don't trust me? I'm offended, Dr. Crane."

"Did you think I wouldn't do a little digging into your background, Mr. Rippner? Forgive me if I question the motives of a hired killer. Don't you think I'm aware that I have enemies in Gotham?"

"I'm sure you do, and one of them may very well hire me to take you out someday. When that time comes, I'll be your enemy, but today, I'm your best friend. Vanessa is available, if you still want her."

"Why are you offering her to me? I would think Bruce Wayne would have much deeper pockets than I," Crane reasoned.

"You say you looked into my background?" Jackson asked. "Then you must know that my reputation took a hit a couple years back. If I'm going to re-establish myself, I have to slap people in the face and get their attention. A simple kidnapping/ransom will get me on page 12 of the Gotham Times, if I'm lucky; but, if I steel her from under Wayne's watchful eye and deliver into the hands of Jon Crane for a measly $500 grand…people will talk about that for years. They'll know I did it just for fun. We both have these women in our lives who did us dirty. You should have your chance to settle the score. Why else do you think you're getting such a good price? Do you think it's because I like you?"

Crane was silent, mulling it over, before he spoke again.

"I want to talk to her," he demanded.

"You've got the photo and the locket, that's enough."

"Photos can be doctored, and I know about your anger problem, Mr. Rippner. It makes you do stupid things. For all I know, you could have killed her already in a fit of rage."

Jackson wasn't thrilled over what he was about to do, but that didn't stop him from storming into the bedroom where Vanessa had just finished dressing, and handing the phone to her.

"Talk to him," Jackson demanded.

The look in her eyes told him that she knew of whom he spoke. She backed away from the phone, shaking her head.

"No, don't make me do it," she whispered, fearing that Crane would hear her.

"Hold on a moment, Dr. Crane. It seems Vanessa is a bit reluctant."

Crane started to say something, but Jackson tossed the phone on the bed without bothering to listen.

"I thought after last night, we had an understanding?" Jackson asked.

"I can't do it. Jackson; please don't make me do it," she implored.

Jackson calmly walked to the nightstand, removing the lamp and placing it on the floor before turning the piece of furniture over. Tapped to the underside, was his knife of choice; his trusty 12 inch, K-Bar.

"Talk to the man, or I'll smooth out those scars of yours. This is called a K-Bar, Vanessa, and it cuts through flesh and bone like butter."

He gripped the knife firmly in his hand and approached her. He shoved her onto the mattress. Unable to look into her frightened eyes, he focused on that right leg.

"No, don't cut me again," she said frantically.

Jackson pulled the knife away, watching as she covered her face and rolled onto her side, not wanting him to see her tears.

"What do you mean, again?" he asked, while forcing the phone into her hand.

Giving into Jackson's relentless browbeating, she pressed the phone to her ear. Her voice was completely devoid of hope as she muttered, "Jonathan," before bursting into tears.

**Author's note: Looks like Vanessa has some secrets, and we know how Jackson hates to be misled. **

**Special thanks to emptyvoices for being a wonderful sounding board, and Not Human for helping me hone my punctuation skills (although I'm sure they still need work)**

**Thanks to all who have read and reviewed!**


	10. Chapter 10

Jackson watched her as she spoke to Crane; having no idea what the good doctor could possibly be saying to her.

"I don't know," Vanessa said as she curled up into an impossibly tight ball.

Jackson noted that, in all his years on the job, he had never seen another human being wither before his eyes, not the way Vanessa did at this moment.

"I'm not sure. We're in the mountains. There's a convenience…."

Jackson grabbed the phone from her hand, and looked at her in dismay. What the hell was she thinking? Had she actually been trying to tell Crane where she was? He looked down at her for a moment and shook his head. She wrapped her arms around her body, and wept softly. Convinced she had lost her mind, Jackson lifted the phone to his ear. He could hear Crane on the other end, asking for Vanessa.

"Trying to cut out the middle man, doctor?" Jackson asked, trying to keep his cool. "It doesn't work that way. The price is $500 thousand. Do we have a deal, or not?"

"I'll need some time to assemble the money, you understand," Crane responded.

"Of course, but do try to hurry. All this time spent locked up with her, sharing the same bed at night; it's getting more and more difficult to resist sampling the merchandise. You know what that's like, don't you, Dr. Crane? Having her locked up, not being able to keep your hands off of her? I assume that's how she got pregnant in the first place."

Jackson heard Crane take a deep breath and exhale with a hiss. He smiled to himself – pleased that he'd succeeded in ruffling Crane's feathers.

"Behave yourself, Mr. Rippner. I won't pay for tainted goods. I marked my territory well, and no one crosses those tracks on her thighs but me; do you understand?"

Jackson felt his jaw involuntarily clench. He knew it; she had lied to him…again. Why did honesty come so hard to some people?

"If you say so, Dr. Crane; when you get the money together, give me a call, and we'll discuss the trade. Until then, keep this matter to yourself. If word of our little business transaction gets out on the streets, it could attract the attention of the Bat-Man," Jackson teased.

"Very well," Crane said.

"So nice doing business with you," Jackson said cordially as he hung up the phone.

He put the phone back in his pocket and slammed his fist against the dresser, snapping Vanessa out of whatever trance she had been under.

"You lied again," he said coolly.

Vanessa stood up and tried to leave the room. He grabbed her around the waist and pushed her into the wall.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he asked, while he grasped her wrists tightly and pinned her arms above her head.

"Take your hands off of me. Why are the details of my life so important to you?" she asked.

"I'll tell you why, Vanessa; because, in my line of work, the devil's in the details. I don't want _any_ surprises – all I want is the truth."

"The truth? I overheard your conversation with Jonathan. You said you were his best friend. He thinks you're actually going to turn me over. You lied to him."

"I didn't lie to the man. I stretched the truth, I joked, and I omitted certain facts."

"You think that lying through omission, somehow makes you honest? You're nothing but a hypocrite," she yelled.

One of Jackson's hands left her wrists and wrapped around her throat, squeezing firmly.

"I asked you a specific question, and you intentionally gave a misleading answer," he said, squeezing even tighter. "Self-mutilation; it was a blatant lie. Tell me what really happened or we'll finish what we started last night."

"He beat me with a flashlight and drove a knife into my stomach," she choked out when he lessened his grip on her throat.

"I know that already," he said as he released her from his grip, but still kept her pinned against the wall with his body.

"No, you don't know. Nobody knows," she began to say, before breaking into tears.

It was different this time though. She was on the verge of hysterics. Her body trembled and she gasped for air as if his hands had never left her throat. Jackson felt her gradually press more of her body weight against him, needing him for support.

"Everyone knows about the flashlight and the knife; what they don't know is that he beat me at 12:30. He didn't stab me until 6:00. Five and a half hours with him….five and a half hours," she said again, as if she, herself were just beginning to realize the significance of it.

She collapsed against Jackson.

"Oh God!" she cried, bringing her hands to her throat and gasping for air. "I can't breathe."

Jackson sat her back down on the bed. People often had panic attacks when they discovered they were the target of an assassin, and Jackson had seen quite a few of these in his day; it was not uncommon. His reaction to her attack was.

He left the room for a moment, heading into the kitchen. Each of the sandwiches he'd purchased the night before had been wrapped in a small paper bag, and he brought one of these back to the bedroom.

Jackson sat on the bed next to her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, and bringing the bag up to her face with the other.

"Listen to me, Vanessa. I need you to breathe for me, okay."

"I can't," she said tearfully.

"Yes, you can. Take a deep breath and let it go. We'll do it together," he said, being careful to keep his tone calm and even.

She followed his lead, taking in a deep breath and letting it go, just as he did. Slowly, her breathing pattern returned to normal. Vanessa pushed the bag away from her face, but made no effort to pull away from him. There was complete silence in that moment; then she began to speak.

"I woke up in the emergency room, just for a couple of minutes," she began to say. "I saw them putting my bathrobe into a clear plastic bag and one of the nurses was talking about a rape kit. I stayed conscious long enough to tell them that they didn't need to do it, and I wouldn't consent to it. I even threatened to sue if they didn't honor my wishes," she laughed mournfully.

"Why did you do that?" Jackson asked.

"After he attacked me with the flashlight, he dragged me into the bedroom and tied me up. That's when he….raped me. He raped me in my own bedroom, just like those bastards who murdered my husband."

Her breathing accelerated again and she took the paper bag from Jackson's hand. When she had brought herself under control again, she continued. Jackson sat there, holding her, not knowing what he should say, if anything. She seemed exhausted, emotionally drained. He tried to pull her close to him; she resisted at first, but the fight had gone out of her, and rested her head against his chest.

"I didn't want him to see my cry. I tried so hard not to, but he kept cutting me. He made me beg him not to kill me, and when I did, he told me he was going to rape me again. _That's_ when Jim showed up."

"Why would you choose to hide what happened, Vanessa?" he asked.

"Jim; he tried so hard to protect me. I didn't want him to know what happened, although I think he has his suspicions, and my daughter; I didn't want to tell her she was conceived through rape. I was going to tell her it happened at Arkham. That her father and I had genuine feelings for each other, before the toxin drove him mad. The truth would have hurt too many people; so I told no one."

Jackson closed his eyes, shocked by what he had heard. He sat there dumbfounded. What was there to say? Memories of what he had done to her last night flooded his mind. Maybe she had been right before; was he really any better than Crane?

"He made me feel helpless," she managed to say through her tears. "I don't want to feel weak anymore."

"You're not weak," Jackson blurted out, unsure of where the words were coming from. "Crane is the weak one. He's a bully and a coward, and he preys on the vulnerable. You have my word; he's not going to hurt you again."

Jackson stood up, leaving her alone on the bed.

"Take a shower, get yourself cleaned up. I'll make you something to eat. I know you must be hungry."

He left the room, shutting the door behind him. For the longest time, not a sound came from the bedroom. Finally, Jackson heard the shower turn on.

**Author's Note: Jackson is showing us his softer side at the moment, alas, he's only capable of just so much tenderness, and I think he's about filled his quota. Crane is coming soon, so hold on everyone; it's going to be a wild ride.**

**Just wanted to say thanks to emptyvoices, for being my sounding board; and Not Human, for all her support.**

**I hope you enjoy the story. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. You made my day!**


	11. Chapter 11

Vanessa stayed in the shower for at least a half hour. Still, she felt dirty, as she often did when she thought about her time spent with Jonathan. Actually telling another soul about the events had only compounded the feeling.

One good thing had come from it; she had had an epiphany. She understood Jonathan now. While at Arkham, she had been an experiment, a toy that had served its purpose. He had planned to kill her that night, before he had been exposed to his own toxin.

The toxin: it had taken what was once a dulling infatuation, and turned it into a full blown obsession. That's what drove him now; she and her daughter would never be safe, never. A telephone call was the only reason Vanessa was alive today, and there were times, in her weaker moments, when she wished that phone hadn't rung.

Her shoulders felt heavy under the weight of these thoughts as she dressed herself. Instead of meeting Jackson in the kitchen, she crawled back into bed and pulled the covers tight around her body.

He came to check in on her once, though she didn't pay him any mind. He had told her she needed to eat, that she'd gone more than a day without food and needed _something_. When she told him she wasn't hungry, he had left the food by the bed incase she changed her mind and had not pressed the issue further. Vanessa stayed there as her food grew cold and the hours passed. She slept on and off, always woken by nightmares. Sometimes, she could hear Jackson as he moved about the trailer. The thought did cross her mind of where he was going to sleep. After all, she was in _his_ bed, but she had a feeling there was not going to be a repeat of last night. He'd been disturbed by what she had told him, had shown a genuine concern. Vanessa wondered why he seemed to care so much, but none of it mattered, as long as he left her alone, his motivations were of little importance to her.

As the sun set, Vanessa drifted off to sleep for the fifth time that day. It was a restless sleep however, plagued by painful memories and terrifying images.

"_Don't scream," Jonathan's voice ordered, while he pressed the knife against her throat. "Beg, Vanessa; beg for your life." _

"_No, I won't do it."_

"_Then you'll need incentive," he had said as he rested the knife between her legs._

_Vanessa had been unable to see with the blindfold wrapped snuggly around her head - as a result, her other senses compensated. The cuts on her thigh burned, his body on top of hers felt like a crushing weight, and the knife he wielded felt as cold as ice. She had known he would not hesitate. He **wanted** to use it._

"_Beg," he growled._

"_Please, please don't…h-hurt me."_

"_Good girl…."_

Strange sounds woke her from her nightmare. She could swear she heard the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow. As she sat up, a shadow appeared in the window. Vanessa choked back a scream and hid under the covers as this prowler pressed his face close to the window, trying to get a glimpse inside. Shortly after, she heard a scraping sound against the glass.

_He couldn't get past the bars, could he?_

When the sounds stopped, Vanessa dared to peak out from under the blanket and saw that the intruder was no longer at the window. Sliding out of bed, she crawled across the floor on her knees, being careful not to be seen or heard. Making her way into the living room, she saw no sign of Jackson. _He_ _must_ _be_ _asleep_, she thought. Vanessa had no idea what time it was. She could hear the clock, but it was too dark to read. She tip-toed into the kitchen, there was still no sign of Jackson, could he be the one outside making all the noise?

At that moment, light footsteps approached the back door. The moon was full that night. It reflected off the snow covered ground and flooded the room with an eerie blue light. Vanessa hid under the kitchen table, hoping to remain unseen, as a man dressed in black, his face covered by a ski mask, tried the lock. Obviously, this was not Jackson. Locking himself out would have been impossible. Who was she kidding? She knew who it was. Hadn't she foolishly given him a clue as to her location? How many convenience stores were there at the edge of the mountains anyway? Why had she done that?

Vanessa felt as if her mind had begun slipping away the moment he had spoken to her.

She thought back to that conversation; the first time she had spoken to him in almost a year.

"_Jonathan."_

_She had said his name with a heavy heart_. Sh_e had pledged never to see his face or hear his voice again._

"_Vanessa," he had said, with what sounded like concern in his voice. "I know you're frightened and I know you don't want to stay with this man any longer. I'm the only one who can help you now. Can you tell me where you are?"_

"_I don't know"_

"_Think, Vanessa. We don't have much time; did you see any landmarks, anything that would help me find you? I'll come for you, Vanessa. He won't be able to stop me."_

"_I'm not sure. We're in the mountains. There's a convenience_…."

Was this man at the door supposed to be her savior? The ski mask he wore tonight was most likely for her benefit. Wasn't it a slap in the face, a cold reminder of what had happened to her that night, when those men had broken into her home and, as a result, she had found herself in Arkham? Jonathan had no other reason to hide his face. Vanessa could not imagine a scenario, so desperate, that she would ever turn to him for help.

When he stopped manipulating the door handle and moved on, Vanessa ran back to the living room, passing the door to the second bedroom along her way. She stopped dead in her tracks. She had seen the room before; had torn it apart looking for the keys to Jackson's car. It was hard to believe it was only now coming to mind. Blaming low blood sugar and her heightened sense of fear for the mental lapse, Vanessa turned the door knob. It opened two inches before she heard it knock against something, and refuse to open further. He must have braced it so he would wake up if she came into his room looking for car keys, weapons or anything else.

"Jackson," she whispered.

He was up and out of bed in an instant. He moved what turned out to be a nightstand away from the door and she rushed inside. Vanessa noted that he was wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts.

_So much for sleeping in the nude, I guess._

"What is it? Why are you whispering?" he asked.

"Lower your voice," Vanessa insisted. "There's someone here. Someone's trying to break in."

"That's not possible, Vanessa. You're imagining things. I told you, you should have eaten; you're delirious."

"I'm telling you, I saw someone; first at my bedroom window, then at the back door. It's

Jonathan. He's trying to find a way in. It is _not_ my imagination."

"Vanessa, if he were here, it would have set off the motion detectors. This trailer may not be much to look at, but I didn't skimp on security," he reassured her.

As if on cue, a beeping sound permeated the trailer; the flood lights outside suddenly came on. Jackson's appeasing tone turned serious as he reached for his gun and quickly got dressed.

They went into the living room together, Jackson grabbing a flashlight along the way. He punched in the security code, opened the front door, and took several steps outside. When he looked over his shoulder and saw that Vanessa was still behind him he turned toward her angrily.

"Get back inside. It's not safe out here."

"But I," she began to say.

"Inside, now," he demanded.

Jackson didn't take his eyes off of her as she turned and walked back inside. He continued to watch as she closed the door behind her, making sure she was safely locked away from whoever had come by to visit. It had been her intent to close that door and lay low until Jackson came back, but that plan went out the window when she noticed the car keys on the coffee table. Vanessa held the door open scarcely more than a crack, as Jackson made his way to the side of the house, unaware of her latest scheme.

Jackson was out of sight, the lights were on, the car was forty feet away; how risky could it be? Propping the door open with her foot, she stretched as far as possible and managed to grab the keys. These weren't the keys to the BMW though; they must belong to the Escape. _What_ _an_ _appropriate_ _name_, she thought as she opened the front door.

She moved as quickly across the front lawn as possible, being careful not to make any noise. The car was parked about ten feet past on old maple tree. On a hot summer day, one could certainly find solace under its branches, but tonight it concealed a predator. The rustling of branches above her alerted Vanessa to his presence. Their eyes met, just for a second, before he pounced, landing on top of her and knocking her to the ground before she even had a chance to scream.

**Author's Note: Jonathan and Vanessa do a little "violent dancing" in the next chapter.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for being my sounding board, and Not Human for making me what I am today!**

**Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. I love you all!**


	12. Chapter 12

When the opportunity to escape had presented itself, Vanessa had run outside without a coat or shoes. Now that she was being pressed into the ground, the cold was beginning to get to her and she was starting to think the escape attempt hadn't been such a good idea after all.

Vanessa had collapsed under the weight of his body immediately. His hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her attempt to cry for help. She struggled underneath him, but he had her firmly pinned.

Those eyes, those terrible eyes; they burned into her, filled with a sickening desire. If she'd had any lingering doubts in her mind about who this masked man was, they were gone now.

"There's nothing to fear, Vanessa. I'm here to help," he told her.

_Yeah, sure you are._

Vanessa closed her eyes for a moment and cleared her head. Using the technique Bruce had taught her, the same one that had caused Jackson quite a bit of discomfort the other day; she made a fist and directed several focused shots directly into his ribs.

"_Hit the last two ribs, Vanessa. They're called floating ribs and they're vulnerable," Bruce had told her._

Jonathan grunted under the force of her blows and moved away from her rapid punches. She took the chance to throw him off of her and scrambled to her feet.

Where was Jackson? The trailer wasn't that big; surely he would have been able to make his way around by now. Had Jonathan gotten to him already? No; if he had done something to Jackson, then he wouldn't care if she screamed or not. He probably would have encouraged it. Vanessa had a feeling that Jonathan feared the prospect of a physical confrontation with Jackson. As long as he was still out here, she had a chance.

Vanessa was about to call for help again when the heel of Jonathan's boot drove into her chest. She stumbled backwards, clutching her chest and gasping for breath. Only the car she slammed against kept her from falling flat on her back. Vanessa was in utter disbelief. These fighting skills he showed now were new to her, and they must be new to him as well. If he had been able to handle himself so well, surely he would have done so during their numerous altercations at Arkham and in her home.

She had no time to ponder that now however, he was coming at her again, fast. She threw a classic round house kick directed at his head, but he quickly dodged it. He moved out of her reach with a stunning fluidity. Not a movement was wasted as he literally danced around her. His eyes were gleaming; he was enjoying this all too much.

"I'm giving you a chance to come with me willingly. Don't make me hurt you," he warned.

As he moved in closer to her, the training Bruce had given her and the ability to remain calm that went with it evaporated. She fell back on old techniques, scratching and clawing at him as his hands wrapped around her throat. He throttled her, cutting off another one of her attempts to scream.

Her training with Bruce had been limited due to her pregnancy. She had never sparred with anyone and as her waist line expanded and her center of gravity changed, she had stopped practicing all together. Her self defense moves were no match for the training Jonathan had received.

Unwilling to give up the fight, Vanessa drove her knee into his groin. Jonathan barred his teeth and growled at her like an animal, his eyes filled with rage, but his grip on her throat did not slacken as pressed his body closer to hers, effectively blocking any other kicks she might throw. Now it was his turn. He pulled a hand away from her throat and drove his fist into her stomach. She sunk to the ground, unable to breathe

"Don't hit me, Jonathan. I just had your baby," she managed to say in desperation, feeling as though she was on the verge of passing out.

Her words had an effect on him, surprisingly. He halted his attack, his hand reached up to touch something that was hanging around his neck. Vanessa looked up and saw that Jonathan was wearing the locket Jackson had taken from her earlier.

"The baby; where is she? Who's watching her?" he asked.

"I don't know," Vanessa said, trying to catch her breath.

"What kind of a mother are you?" he sneered and kicked her in the face.

The shot landed between her upper lip and nose. She fell backwards into the snow; the warm blood flowing down her face was a stark contrast to the cold night air. She could feel the area beginning to swell almost immediately, but, thankfully she hadn't heard any bones crunching to indicate he'd broken her nose. Using her tongue, she surveyed the damage further. Her lip had been split open, but she still had all her teeth. There was a distinct level of control to his fighting style. He knew exactly how hard to hit her, stunning her without causing permanent damage to his property.

An all too familiar needle prick sent panic coursing throughout her body. He had injected her with something. She felt the warm fluid making its way through her blood stream. It was fast acting; a new cocktail he'd created just for her, no doubt. Already, she was feeling relaxed, almost drunk. Images of what would no doubt be a brief life; mostly spent submitting to the whims of this misogynistic sadist flooded her mind. If he ever got his hands on their daughter: It was too horrible to imagine.

_No!_

Jonathan lifted her off the ground and held her in a bear hug as he carried her into the woods. He was going to take her away; someplace where no one would ever see or hear from her again.

She gurgled once, choking on her blood as she tried to find her voice. Finally, she threw her head back and screamed, "Jackson!", before the sedative took her.

"I'm taking you back to Gotham; it's where you belong. You, me, our little girl," Jonathan said as he threw her onto what felt like a cold piece of plastic and strapped her down.

She was cold, she'd lost all feeling in her toes, but she didn't seem to care anymore. Vanessa listened to Jonathan's heavy breathing as he pulled her down the mountain in this make shift sled.

"_What a clever way to get someone down a snow covered mountain quickly and silently," she thought._

In the distance, she could hear Jackson calling her name, but that didn't matter anymore either.

The sky was so beautiful. Vanessa could never remember it looking quite this lovely in Gotham. City lights had a way of obscuring the night sky.

As the stars quickly moved through her field of vision, leaving tracks as they went, she smiled and said,

"Shooting stars; aren't they pretty?"

**Author's Note: Thanks again to emptyvoices, for being my sounding board, and Not Human for her support.**

**Thanks to all who read and review. I really appreciate it.**

**Looks like Vanessa is in a spot of trouble. I hope Jackson can run fast**!


	13. Chapter 13

Jackson ran full speed to the front of the trailer, his gun was drawn, he was ready for action, but he found nothing. Other than Vanessa's solitary cry, the night was silent. He called her name repeatedly; there was no response. To his dismay, the front door lay wide open…Vanessa was gone.

What had enticed her to such an extent, that she would risk coming out here alone, he wondered?

Then it dawned on him; the car keys he'd left on the coffee table. A stupid move on his part, but Jackson had never thought she would venture outside if she knew Crane was lurking about.

Both of the cars were still parked outside. Jackson approached the Escape and saw specks of blood spattered across the newly fallen snow. She hadn't made it very far. These tiny droplets led off into the woods and he tracked two sets of foot prints that quickly turned into one. As he stepped into the woods, Jackson swore he heard singing in the distance.

When Jackson saw the tracks of what appeared to be a sled, it all came together in his mind. He knew Crane's plan; take her down the mountain in this sled and bring her to a secure location where he no doubt had a vehicle waiting. Hell, it sure beat carrying her, and it was faster as well.

Jackson followed the sled tracks and the soft singing grew louder. He recognized the voice as Vanessa's, though something about her tone was unsettling. Her words were slurred, she sounded intoxicated as she sang what sounded like a lullaby. Crane must have drugged her.

They were quite a ways off in the distance and catching up with them before Crane reached his vehicle was critical. Luckily, Jackson was not carrying an additional human being with him as Crane was, and gained ground quickly.

Despite the disruption, this was not an entirely unexpected or unwelcome event. From the time Vanessa had inexplicably told Crane where she was, Jackson had anticipated an attack of some kind. Crane would never want to pay for her; he had too much pride, not when he could simply steal her. If Jackson could catch up to him now, this job would be over a little sooner than he thought. He could bring Vanessa home and get that little pain in the ass out of his life forever and move onto his next assignment. If Crane got away; well, he'd be fucked.

Jackson picked up the pace, but Crane and Vanessa were still out of sight and her singing had stopped. All he had to go by were the sled tracks. They led him to an overhang; from this vantage point he could look over the broad face of the mountain. He shined the flashlight in all directions, and it wasn't long before his beam fell on a man dressed in black, running down the mountain side with Vanessa in tow. Jackson took off in pursuit and watched as Crane vanished into a thicket of trees and underbrush; the distinct sound of the sled being dragged through the snow vanished as well.

Jackson slowed his pace. Obviously, Crane has seen his light and knew he was being followed. Jackson got the sudden feeling that he was the hunted, as well as the hunter this night. Coming around the corner, he saw the sled. Vanessa was still strapped to it. Whatever drug she'd been given had rendered her unconscious for the moment.

Jackson decided to ignore her for now. She wasn't going anywhere and finding Crane was more important. The night was silent. Crane was still close. Unless he had learned how to fly, there was no way he could escape without making some noise. Jackson stepped into the small grouping of trees cautiously. Other than his own footsteps, he did not hear a sound.

His cell phone rang abruptly, startling him. Cursing the small, electronic device, he decided to answer it. This was the phone only Crane had the number to, and Jackson was curious to see what the man had to say for himself.

"What?" Jackson asked impatiently.

There was nothing but silence on the other end.

Jackson winced as something drove into his mid-back, sending a shock wave of pain throughout his entire body.

_The damn cell phone gave me away._

He felt a second wave of pain as, what he now knew was a fist, drove into his back again. Jackson half wondered if his kidney had been bruised as he thrust his arm back, aiming for where he thought his attackers head may be. He was correct in his assumption, and his elbow connected with the assailants jaw. Jackson turned around just in time to block a kick that had been coming towards his head, and countered with one of his own, sending Crane stumbling backwards a good ten feet. Crane's moves were smooth, he'd give him that, but Jackson had ten years of martial arts training under his belt; Crane couldn't have more than ten months.

"I'm surprised to see you out here. I thought you only picked fights with people half your size," Jackson taunted as he drew his gun.

Crane, at least Jackson assumed it was Crane, ran into the woods for cover. Jackson fired off a shot, hitting a tree and missing Crane entirely.

As Jackson chased him through the brush, they came to a clearing. Crane was running on open land and Jackson took the opportunity to fire off two more rounds, hitting nothing but air.

_I always was a lousy shot._

Without Vanessa with him, Crane moved incredibly fast. He slipped out of Jackson's sight for a moment and by the time he emerged from the woods and found himself back on the main road; Jackson was staring at the taillights of Crane's car as he sped down the mountain.

"Damn it!" Jackson yelled.

He'd been so close; so close to succeeding – so close to failing as well.

_You'll be back. As long as she's here, you'll be back._

Jackson traced his steps back through the woods to where Vanessa still lay bound to the sled. By now, she was partially awake; the fight and ensuing gunshots having woken her from her drug induced slumber. Her speech was still lethargic, but she was distinctly calling his name. Jackson directed his flashlight beam to her sled. He could see she wore no coat or shoes. Her feet were wet, and her face and sweatshirt; make that his sweatshirt, were covered in mud. Good thing she was sedated, she probably wasn't feeling the cold as much, or maybe she just didn't care.

He walked closer to the sled and kicked it. He was so angry with her; he didn't know what to do.

"Jackson?" she asked.

He loomed over her; bending down to make eye contact, he asked her in all honesty,

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just let you freeze to death out here?"

**Author's Note: Vanessa had a close call in this chapter, but she's not out of the woods yet…literally. Hahaha**

**Thanks to emptyvoices and Not Human for their support.**

**Thank you again to all who have read and reviewed. **


	14. Chapter 14

Jackson knew the answer to the question he'd just asked, but still felt an overwhelming need to berate her.

"Maybe I'll just leave you out here for an hour or so; let your toes freeze off. Will that curb these little escape attempts, Vanessa?"

She was too intoxicated to respond verbally at this point. She seemed to drift in and out of consciousness, and all she could do at the moment, was cry.

His cell phone rang again, interrupting his idle treats. Jackson picked up the phone, knowing full well who was on the other end.

_This ought to be good._

"I should double the price after what you pulled, Crane," Jackson yelled, in lieu of a "hello".

"Mr. Rippner, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Has something happened to Vanessa?"

_Don't try your mind games with me._

Jackson could almost picture him on the other end of the line with a smug grin on his face. Oddly enough, Crane didn't sound like he was calling from a cell phone.

"Do you actually expect me to believe this bullshit?" Jackson asked. "How's the jaw feeling, by the way?"

"Calm down, Mr. Rippner; you're delusional. Have you hurt Vanessa?"

"Of course not doctor; that's your job."

Jackson heard Crane take another one of those deep breaths; the kind that let Jackson know he'd managed to piss him off.

"Think about this," Crane began to say. "You stepped on a lot of toes on your way to becoming a manager. Now that you're on the bottom again, trying to work your way up, don't you think there are people within your own organization, who would want to see you fail? You should look to those closest to you before you blame me for whatever it is you believe has happened."

Jackson hated the idea of playing patsy to this manipulative snake, but, no matter what, he couldn't change the fact that he needed Crane to come back. He'd have to play along if he wanted to finish the job.

"Whatever," Jackson said dismissively. "Do you have my money, or not?"

"Yes, I do; and I want to pick Vanessa up as soon as possible. All I need from you are the directions."

Jackson gave Crane directions to the trailer, finding the whole charade rather ridiculous. Crane knew damn well where he'd had taken her. Jackson hung up the phone, feeling even more frustrated – if that was possible. In anger, he turned his attention back to Vanessa, whose eyes were half open again.

"Bye, Vanessa. I'll see you in an hour. Stay warm," he said as he turned and began walking away.

"Don't go; I'll be a good girl," she mumbled so softly, he was scarcely able to hear what she had said.

"What?" he fired back at her while shining the flashlight in her face.

What he thought had been mud, was not mud at all. It was blood, and it covered her mouth and chin. It fell in streaks down her neck, staining the front of her shirt. She was a mess.

"Don't leave, Jona…Scarecrow. I'm a good girl."

She sounded like a child. Her therapist had made mention of this in her notes. Vanessa would always detach, and speak in a distant, childlike voice when probed for details of what Crane had done to her. The therapist had never pressed the issue. As a result, Vanessa had never discussed her ordeal with anyone…except him. She had opened up, only when threatened.

"Scarecrow," she whispered again.

_My God..._

Jackson approached her again. She was silent now, most likely asleep, although her body trembled from the cold.

"Alright, come on," he said as he untied her and threw her over his shoulder.

It was slow going, carrying her uphill through the snow, but they made it back to the trailer more quickly than he had thought they would. When they reached the front door, he put her down and entered the access code.

"Jackson?"

"Can you walk?" he asked without looking at her.

"Yes," she answered sleepily.

He helped her up and she took her first step inside, promptly falling flat on her face. To his astonishment, she started laughing.

"So, you think this is funny?" he asked as he helped her to her feet.

Vanessa turned to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, interlacing her fingers behind his head.

"Jackson Rippner, you're my hero," she laughed.

He was tired and his back hurt after Crane's punches, he didn't appreciate her attempt at humor. She was pressed against him, staring at the scar on his neck.

"Poor, Jackson."

"Are you trying to be seductive?" he asked. With her bloody nose and split lip, the whole thing was comical.

"Maybe…in your dreams," she teased.

"As ravishing as you look right now; I think I'll have to pass, sweetheart."

"I thought you had a soft spot for the ladies. Isn't that how you got that scar, killer?"

Her constant sarcasm was getting on his nerves, and Jackson's patience with her had run out. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her into the bathroom. Pushing her into the shower fully clothed, he turned on the water, making sure it was on its coldest setting. She cried out when the cold water hit her, but it seemed to wake her up a bit. Not until she looked at him with a hint of lucidity in her eyes, did he turn up the temperature of the water.

"What are you doing?" she yelled at him.

"I'm glad that you find all the events of this evening amusing, Vanessa. Really, I do, but if things had gone just a little differently tonight, I would have lost my only chance at successfully completing this job and you…you'd be with Crane tonight, instead of here with me. Think about that, and tell me if it's still funny."

She looked at the floor and didn't say a word.

"I thought so," Jackson said.

Her consciousness was fleeting and her eyes shut again. Jackson turned off the water and nudged her a bit. This time she was truly out. He had a feeling she wouldn't be waking up any time soon.

He couldn't very well leave her in the shower, but he couldn't put her in bed with her clothes soaking wet either. He would have to change her clothing, though he was sure she'd give him hell about it in the morning. Jackson scooped her out of the shower and laid her down on the bathroom floor. Fetching a change of clothes from his bedroom, he returned to her and methodically set about undressing her. Out of respect, he was careful to avert his eyes as he removed her underwear.

Removing her clothes without looking had been easy. Dressing her without looking proved to be more of a challenge, but he managed, even if he did put her shirt on backwards. Her new outfit consisted of his t-shirt and boxer shorts. It was the best he could do, given the circumstances. He hadn't expected her to get covered in mud, and who knows what else, every single day. His wardrobe was being stretched thin.

The whole time he'd been removing her clothing, she offered no protests or resistance of any kind. Jackson couldn't help but wonder what Crane would have done to her while she was in this compliant state. It was a terrible thought.

As he placed her in bed and pulled the covers over her body, his thoughts drifted back to events that had taken place over a decade ago. To the day when his younger sister, Jessica, who had been sixteen at the time, had called to say she was leaving work, but had never come home. Jackson had gone out and combed the streets himself, searching for any trace of her, but she was nowhere to be found. Her body had been discovered in an alley across town the following morning. She'd been raped before she had been strangled; her attacker had seen fit to dump her on the street when he was finished with her, as if she were a piece of garbage.

Since that day, Jackson had made a stone of his heart. It was that apathy that had led him into this business, earning him a great deal of money in the process. Everything had been going fine, until he met Lisa. The secret she'd been hiding had shaken him, woken him up. For a moment, he had felt alive again. Sitting beside Vanessa, here and now, he was feeling it again. She and Lisa were alike in many ways; both were strong willed and stubborn, if not a little naïve, both wore their heart on their sleeve, and both had survived that same despicable act.

Lisa was gone now; he had failed to protect Jessica.

"Never again," he promised her as he brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face before leaving the room.

**Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this chapters and I appreciate all your feedback. Thank you, thank you, thank you!**

**Special thanks to emptyvoices, for letting me bounce ideas off of her, and Not Human for her support.**

**Crane comes back into the story soon and that will be the beginning of the end, I'm afraid.**


	15. Chapter 15

_Vanessa woke up, surrounded by darkness, feeling as though she were floating in mid air._

"_Vanessa," a soft female voice called._

_As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Vanessa looked in all directions. She was in the water; it surrounded her as far as the eye could see. She could see two small lights off in the distance, but the source of the strange voice was still a mystery._

"_Vanessa," the voice called again._

_Not knowing what else to do, Vanessa swam in the direction of the lights. She did not know how she'd gotten here; she didn't care. All she wanted to do was get to land._

_She drew closer to the lights and saw that they illuminated a sign that hung above a pier. "Gotham Fishery," it read. _

_**I'm at the Gotham Docklands. How did I get here?**_

_Something touched her ankle from under the water. Vanessa screamed and doubled her efforts to make it to shore. It was still so far away, when a hand grabbed her ankle again and pulled her under the surface. _

_She could see better under here, and she could breathe. Why was that? Her eyes focused on whomever, or whatever had a hold of her leg. _

_The face, what was left of it anyway, was horrid. The eyes were long gone, empty sockets were all that remained. Only half of the face was still covered by bloated flesh; the rest had been eaten away by the local marine life, revealing the stark white bone underneath. The red hair however, was unmistakable. Those crimson locks floated around her head like a crown; they were the only part of her body that remained fully intact._

**_Julie_**…

_Julie's skeletal hand tightened its grip and pulled Vanessa down further._

"_I told you I'd keep you safe, Vanessa. Jonathan will never find you down here."_

"_No!" Vanessa screamed as she closed her eyes tight._

_When she opened them again, the scene had changed. Vanessa was sitting in a cozy recliner, next to the warmth of the fireplace. She was facing a Christmas tree and beside her, in another large recliner, sat Jonathan with two small children in his lap. The girl, the older of the two, couldn't have been much over four; the boy looked to be about three years old. Both of them had her dark hair and tan skin; both of them had Jonathan's blazing blue eyes. They sat cuddled in his lap, while he read, "T'was the Night Before Christmas."_

_It was a scene of perfect domestic bliss. If only she wasn't tied to the chair with a gag in her mouth._

"_It's time the two of you went off to bed. If Santa sees you're still awake, he may pass right over our house," Jonathan told them._

_The two children looked at each other in alarm before jumping off his lap._

"_Good night Daddy," they yelled simultaneously as they ran for the stairs._

"_Hold on; kiss your mother good night before you go."_

_The children ran to her side. They were unfazed by the fact that she was bound and gagged in her chair. Was this a common occurrence_?

"_Good night Mommy," they said before running off to bed._

_Jonathan watched the two of them run upstairs and then turned his attention back to Vanessa. Smiling mischievously, he rose from his chair and approached her. _

_As he touched her face softly he asked, "They're beautiful, aren't they?"_

_Of course, she could not answer him. Even if her mouth hadn't been covered, she would have been too mortified to respond – the whole situation was overwhelming._

"_They're brilliant too. They both have that story memorized, word-for-word_."

_He bent over her and began kissing her neck as he loosened the ropes around her wrists._

"_I want you to come upstairs with me, Vanessa. Don't fight me this time."_

_She didn't listen to him. In her heart, she knew that this had been going on, nearly every single night, for years now, and she always fought him. It was a game he liked to play. Jonathan hadn't even finished untying her and already, she was struggling._

"_This is getting old, Vanessa," he said. "I'm sorry to say, you're boring me, but that's to be expected with couples who have been together as long as we have. I guess the burden falls on me to keep things new."_

_Jonathan reached into a box on top of the mantle and pulled out a syringe. He tapped it a couple of times and walked towards her again._

"_This should help," he said as he plunged the needle into her neck._

_**Nobody knows where I am. Someone, please help me…Jackson!**_

"Jackson!" she cried.

Vanessa woke from her nightmare in tears and found that Jackson was already with her, shaking her and telling her to wake up.

"I was gone. He took me away. He took my children," Vanessa said as she jumped out of bed and ran to the living room. "I have to go; my daughter is in danger. I have to leave now."

"You can't go, Vanessa. I still need you," Jackson said.

Ignoring him, she rushed to the front door and pressed numbers randomly into the key pad. It refused to open and she found herself beating against the steel door in frustration.

"Vanessa, stop," Jackson said and grabbed her from behind.

Realizing the situation was useless, Vanessa sank to the ground. Overcome with grief and desperation, she burst into tears. Jackson fell to the floor along with her, holding her in his arms.

"He's going to go after her. He didn't get me; he'll try for her. I know he will," she cried.

"He'll fail, Vanessa. Put your trust in Bruce; he'll keep her safe," Jackson said, trying to console her.

"He didn't protect me," Vanessa said.

"You didn't let him. You were too independent…or stubborn. He's never going to let Ava out of his sight. You know that."

He was right. Bruce, Alfred and Jim, they would all be watching her daughter like a hawk. Vanessa shook her head in remorse. If she had just let a female security guard stand outside her bathroom stall, she wouldn't even be here now.

"I saw her," Vanessa said quietly.

"Saw who?"

"Julie; you must know about her."

"Yes, I do," he said.

"It was my fault, what happened to her. It was all my fault."

"Really, you were the one who weighted her down and shoved her off a pier? I thought it was Crane who arranged that."

"It never would have happened if it wasn't for me. I shouldn't have let her get involved," Vanessa lamented.

"She did what any person with half a backbone would have done. She knew the consequences, Vanessa, but that didn't stop her from doing the right thing," he told her.

"Who are you, Jackson?" Vanessa asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know who you are. Are you the man who threatened me last night, or the man who's holding me now?"

He said nothing.

"Do you even know?" she asked

"That's not important, Vanessa. Just know that you and your daughter are safe. Bruce will protect her; let me protect you," he whispered in her ear.

They began to sway together, ever so slightly. The way he held her, so possessively; she almost believed she was safe. Vanessa grasped his arms, holding on to him as if he were a lifeline. He pressed his lips against her neck and she sighed. Why did _he_ have to be her protector? She wished Bruce were here.

Right now, however, Jackson was all she had. So they sat there in each others arms. His grip on her gradually tightened as his lips drifted back up to her ear and lingered there, far longer than she wanted them to, but he did not act. His mouth hovered over her exposed skin, waiting for a sign, an invitation.

"Jackson."

"Hmmm."

"I should go back to bed," she said as she let go of his arms.

His head drooped a bit against her shoulder and he slackened his grip. "Yes, you'd better go," he agreed.

He released her and Vanessa stood up and walked back into the bedroom. When she turned around, she caught one more glimpse of him as she closed the door. He was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall.

_A penny for your thoughts…_

**Author's note: Okay, it's what you've been waiting for…Crane shows up in the next chapter**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her suggestions, and Not Human for her support.**

**Thanks again to everyone for your kind reviews. I really appreciate it.**


	16. Chapter 16

"_Hey, Jack, we just closed up. I'll be home in twenty minutes," his sister told him. _

_Looking at the clock, Jackson saw that it was almost 11:30. The restaurant had closed later than usual that Sunday night._

_She always called before she left work, that was the rule; and she was the only person on the face of this earth that could call him Jack and get away with it. Being a younger sister had its advantages. _

_Jackson Rippner; did his parents use any forethought before they chose that name? Still, he didn't have it as bad as his best friend, Justin: Justin Time._

_Thirty minutes had passed since that phone call, and Jessica still had not come home. After an hour had gone by, Jackson had gone out looking for her. He went to the restaurant where she worked part-time as a waitress and retraced her steps. There was no sign of her._

_They had called the police, but were told that Jessica couldn't be declared missing for 24 hours. Until then, all Jackson and his parents could do, was wait._

_The phone rang at six that morning and Jackson knew. Even before his father had answered the call, he knew. Jessica was gone. What he hadn't been prepared for was the specifics of how she had died. His mother and father didn't want to know. The fact that she was dead was already too much for them; they couldn't bear to hear the details, so the police had told Jackson._

_Obviously, she had been attacked on her way home from work. Her body had turned up across town and police theorized she'd been forced into a vehicle and taken to another location. The son-of-a-bitch, whoever he was, had raped her; raped his sixteen year old sister. Then he had wrapped a length of steel cord around her neck, twisting it tighter and tighter, crushing her windpipe and shredding the delicate skin around her neck in the process. Her time of death had been estimated at 4:00 a.m. and it pained Jackson to know that she had not died right away. The monster had toyed with her for a while; his baby sister had suffered. _

_Jackson would often think about her final moments, as she lay there, fighting for her life, naked and face down on the pavement with this man on her back; had she thought of him? Did she cry out for her big brother to come and save her? _

_But Jackson had never come, and his sister had died in that deserted alley._

_In the years that ensued, Jackson watched with little emotion as his parents marriage fell apart. One day, his father walked out and never came back. His mother sought solace at the local bar and she died of liver failure two years later. All this had happened shortly before Jackson's twentieth birthday. Little did he know, in six short months, he would have a new career and his life would be changed forever._

_He had a step-brother, his father's son from a previous marriage, who lived in Pennsylvania with his wife and two daughters, but he had only met them once before he began work. After that, family had been viewed as a liability and Jackson had never contacted them again. He was quickly taught to bury his emotions and moved on with his life without ever looking back. A single kiss on the cheek from his four year old niece, Allison, was the last genuine display of affection he had received. Since that day, people had come to fear him, despise him; some had even lusted after him, but no one had ever loved or cared for him. He told himself it didn't matter that no one ever would._

Breaking free of these painful memories, Jackson stood from the couch abruptly and walked into his bedroom. His back cried in protest as he climbed into bed and tried to find a comfortable position. If his back was this sore already, he wasn't looking forward to what the morning would bring. _If_ _only_ _I_ _had_ _some_ _aspirin_. Slowly, his eyes drifted shut and he gave into a restless sleep.

The sound of Vanessa milling around in the kitchen woke him that morning. Jackson quietly left his bedroom and watched her as she searched through the cabinets. He knew she wasn't searching for a weapon, there were none to find; she was looking for food.

A sense of relief washed over him. He had no idea what Crane had given her and what its long term effects might be. Pain in the ass that she was, part of him was glad that she was okay.

Vanessa felt his eyes on her and she turned around, clutching a box of granola bars in her hands. He had to smile a bit. She looked like a wide-eyed little kid who'd just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Did she remember what had happened last night; all of it? The attack, how he'd changed her clothing; the way they had held each other for that brief moment? Her inability to sustain eye contact with him, told him that she did.

Jackson was the first to break the silence, "You were covered in mud. I was worried about hypothermia…"

"I know, its okay," she interrupted as she sat down at the kitchen table.

She looked at him with what he thought was frustration, or maybe disappointment, before she asked, "Is this it? This is your life? Bouncing from job to job until something goes wrong and you end up dead; is that the plan?"

"8:00 a.m. and already, you're lecturing me? You know, your words might carry more significance if your mouth wasn't full of food, sweetheart. The only thing I want to hear from you this morning, is 'thanks for saving my life, Jackson.'"

"Well, if you hadn't kidnapped me, my life would not have been in danger in the first place," she retorted. "I'll tell you what I think; I think that somewhere, buried deep, deep, _deep_, down inside of you, is a man who wants to do the right thing. You're young, Jackson. It's not too late to change your life."

"Just eat your damn granola bar, Vanessa. I don't need your pep talk."

She took a deep breath and shook her head before looking away from him. She was about to say something more when the motion detectors sounded off.

"He's here," Jackson said.

"What?" she asked in alarm as she stood up, managing to knock her chair over in the process. She almost stumbled over it as she backed away.

Tears poured down her face as they both heard a car pull up in front of the trailer. Jackson reached out for Vanessa, who promptly backed away from him.

"Stay away from me!" she yelled.

"Pull yourself together, Vanessa. This is almost over; don't fall apart on me now."

The car came to a stop and Vanessa began to breathe heavily. Jackson could sense she was on the verge of another panic attack.

"I can't see him," she panted. "I don't want to hear his voice."

Even her legs were shaking; she looked as if she were about to faint. Given the circumstances, that might not be such a bad thing. Jackson could always wake her when it was over.

"Don't do it here, Jackson, please," she said desperately. "I don't want to see anymore violence, anymore death."

Jackson glanced over her shoulder to the living room window and saw Crane opening the car door. He turned his attention back to Vanessa and placed his hands reassuringly on her shoulders.

Looking into her frightened eyes, he said, "I won't do it here. He and I will go for a ride and when I get back, I'll take you home. Until then, I want you to go into the bathroom, lock the door and don't come out until I get back, okay?"

"Okay," she said with a quiver in her voice.

This time, he waited until Vanessa had stepped into the bathroom and he heard the lock engage. Positive that she was under lock and key, Jackson came bounding out of the trailer with a huge grin on his face, the anticipation of killing this dirt bag having put a spring in his step.

In his gut, Jackson knew that what he was about to do was stupid; that he was allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment. Inside, he _knew_ that he was making the biggest mistake of his life, but he dismissed it.

Crane had already exited the car and was walking towards him with his brief case in hand. Something in the back seat of his car caught Jackson's attention. Looking closer, Jackson saw a car seat and he felt both repulsed and amused. He hated to break it to the doctor, but his sick fantasies of family and fatherhood were about to be dashed.

When Crane saw that Jackson was alone and no one else was coming out of the trailer, he looked at Jackson quizzically and asked,

"Where is she? Where's Vanessa?"

"She's close doc," Jackson answered cheerfully. "I had to hide her away after the incident last night, just to keep her safe. You understand."

"Of course; better safe, than sorry," Crane reasoned.

"Did you bring the money?"

"Yes, I have it in the car," Crane said.

"Well then, let's go for a ride."

Jackson could sense Crane's misgivings as they stood little more than three feet apart. This was the first time Jackson had seen him in the flesh, and he was astonished to find that Crane looked exactly like his picture. The man had not changed a bit, save for the scar that ran from underneath his right eye to the corner of his mouth. Crane's eyes burned into Jackson with a strange familiarity. He wondered if the doctor was just noticing the resemblance they shared for the first time.

They looked so very much alike, though Jackson liked to think he had a little more meat on his bones. He found it intriguing that something as benign as black hair could make Crane's eyes appear so much more menacing than his own.

Crane continued to eye him suspiciously as he stared over Jackson's shoulder at the front door to the trailer, which stood wide open.

"Is there a problem?" Jackson asked.

"Mr. Rippner, the man I'm working for knows I'm here. If something should happen to me, he will not be amused, and we both know he has a healthy sense of humor," he smiled knowingly.

"All we have to do is go for a brief ride, and this will all be over with quickly; you have my word, Dr. Crane."

"Please, call me, Jonathan," Crane said as he extended his hand.

"Alright, Jonathan, feel free to call me, Jackson."

He squeezed Crane's hand and jerked him forward. With his left hand, Jackson raised his gun and pressed the barrel against this madman's forehead.

"Get back in the car, Dr. Crane and don't fight me. You and I are going to go on a little trip. Oddly enough, Vanessa said she doesn't want to see you die. If you have any dignity left, you'll suck it up and take it like a man."

A glimmer of triumph spread across Jackson's face, but it was fleeting. Was that a pin prick he'd just felt in the center of his palm when he shook Crane's hand? Jackson looked down at Crane's open palm and saw what appeared to be a joy buzzer.

_I should have known; your boss is quite the joker._

The doctor watched him; the smirk on his face grew wider with each passing second.

"You're a stupid young man, with far too much pride. Did you really think you'd be able to pull this off, you worthless plebeian?" Crane asked.

Jackson's trigger finger began to shake uncontrollably and he dropped the gun. The tremors quickly spread throughout his entire body as he turned away from Crane, trying to make his way back to the trailer.

He had to get back inside and shut that door. Vanessa was a sitting duck.

"Why, Mr. Rippner, you're trembling," Crane said with mock concern as he followed Jackson's shuffling form.

Jackson made it through the door but did not have the strength to close it behind him. He collapsed beside the couch and his heart sank when he heard a woman gasp.

_I told you to stay in the bathroom. Do you **ever** listen?_

Crane stepped over his prone form in pursuit of Vanessa and Jackson heard a door slam just before his vision blurred and he succumbed to the effects of the sedative.

**Author's Note: In the next chapter, Vanessa and Jonathan catch up on old times. **

**Painting a man that kills people for a living in a sympathetic light is no easy task, but I hope I've managed to generate a little bit of compassion for Jackson's character! Although certainly not an angel, I don't feel he's in the same league with Dr. Crane.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for pointing out potential plot holes, and Not Human for her support and encouragement.**

**Again, thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. You guys are the best and I appreciate your kind words.**


	17. Chapter 17

From the moment he had walked through the door, she'd felt paralyzed, almost as if she were rooted to the ground; but who was she kidding, this meeting was inevitable. Once Jackson had relayed his crazy plot to lure Jonathan out of hiding, she had known this day would come.

It didn't matter that she hadn't stayed in the bathroom; he would have found her anyway.

_But that doesn't make it any easier; still, I can't just stand here like a statue._

Snapping out of this dreamlike haze, she turned on her heels and ran for the only lockable door in this place.

Vanessa made it just in time; closing the door and turning the lock less than a second before Jonathan came crashing into it. She pressed her body against the door and dug her feet into the ground in an effort to reinforce the flimsy lock. The look on his face when he had come strolling into the trailer would be forever burned into her memory; so smug, so triumphant. With the exception of the scar on his face, he was the same man who had terrorized her at Arkham, right down to his trademark glasses and his tailored suit.

He banged on the door a couple of times, but to her surprise, that was where his efforts had ended. Instead, she was forced to listen at the door, while Jonathan went about his other tasks. The lack of noise was disturbing. She caught only two grunts of exertion and was left to wonder what Jonathan could possibly be doing. Then it dawned on her; he must be restraining Jackson in some way, he'd be a fool not to.

Out of necessity, she moved away from the door. Vanessa searched the bathroom desperately, hoping to find a weapon of some sort. There were none; not even a disposable razor, Jackson would have made sure of that. He'd locked her in this trailer, thinking he would keep her safe, only to have left her up a creek without a paddle.

She had seen movies before where criminals had hidden drugs or weapons in the tank of the toilet and she lifted the cover to see if she might finally catch a break; no such luck, it was empty.

"Damn," she whispered.

A gentle knock at the door caused her to spin around and she clutched the tank cover close to her body. It was an unconventional weapon, but the only one she had.

"You can come out now, Vanessa. I've taken care of Mr. Rippner, everything is quite safe."

_Funny, it's not Mr. Rippner I'm worried about._

"Vanessa, open this door at once," Jonathan said. His tone carried a greater sense of urgency, but remained calm and collected, as if he were trying to talk her in from a window ledge.

She gave him no response.

"If you don't open the door immediately; I'll be forced to break it down. Do you understand me, Vanessa?"

"Go away!" she yelled. It was not the snappy comeback she was hoping for, but it got her point across.

She backed into the corner and readied herself as a hard kick shook the door. When his second kick landed, she heard the wood splinter and on the third kick, the lock gave out and the door swung open. Vanessa lunged at him with the cover held high over her head. He remained calm and raised Jackson's gun to her.

"Don't," he said flatly.

She dropped the cover to the ground and it landed with a heavy thud. The two of them just stared at each other for a moment; Vanessa unable to take her eyes off the scar on his face.

Noticing this, he smiled and said, "I guess we both gave each other souvenirs of our time together, but enough of this foolishness. We have work to do."

"_I won't scream. I won't let him see me cry,"_ she told herself as he came closer.

To her surprise, he pulled her close to him and held her tight, pressing the gun into the small of her back.

"I'm not angry with you anymore, Vanessa. None of this is your fault. Bruce Wayne and Jackson Rippner have poisoned your mind. They tried to turn you against me."

Too stunned to respond to him, Vanessa looked over his shoulder. There was Jackson, sitting in the middle of the living room; propped up in a chair with his wrists tied to its arms.

"You can help me," he said cheerfully and passed her two pieces of rope. "I've tied his wrists, but I'd like to see you tie his ankles, Vanessa."

Still pressing the gun against her back, he led her into the living room. Jonathan turned his attention back to Jackson's bonds and double checked his work, "I'm sure you would have preferred to tie his wrists as well, but with your inferior upper body strength, I doubt you'd be able to do it properly and I can't risk having Mr. Rippner trying to leave during his session."

"What do you want with him, Jonathan? Why don't we just leave?" she asked.

"I'm going to make an example of him. When people see what I've done, no one will dare come after me or my family again. I'm doing this for us, for our child," he said, looking her up and down. "Why are you so concerned about his welfare in the first place?"

"I'm not," Vanessa answered quickly.

"What have the two of you been doing up here? You're wearing his clothes; did he touch you?"

"No," she said, unable to hide the uncertainty in her voice, for he certainly had touched her, although not in the way Jonathan implied.

Jonathan's eyes bored into hers, reading her every expression. He reached out quickly and grabbed her wrists, still raw from when Jackson had cuffed her to the sink.

"How did you get these marks?" he demanded. "I'll ask you once more; did he touch you?"

He released his grip and Vanessa wrapped her arms around herself and looked away from him. The tears she had been fighting for some time now, spilled down her face.

"It's not what you think, Jonathan," was all she could say.

"He didn't rape you," Jonathan deduced, "but he hurt you; didn't he?" He looked over at Jackson's unconscious form and glared at him, "Then he'll suffer all the more."

_What is this sudden display of chivalr_y? Jonathan Crane as her night in shining armor was both surreal, and overwhelming.

Jonathan pressed the rope into her hands, "Tie his ankles, Vanessa. I want to see you do it."

Vanessa knelt in front of Jackson and circled the rope around his ankle once, before she halted. She looked at his unconscious form, noting that he looked almost peaceful as he slept. She might not be able to prevent what Jonathan had in store for him, but she would take no part in it.

_No more; no matter the consequences, this has to end._

"No," she said, without turning to face him.

She felt the gun pressed against the back of her head and along with it, the realization that this man was bluffing.

"You won't shoot me. You didn't go through all this trouble just to kill me, did you?" she asked him sincerely as she turned around. "Wave that stupid gun around all you like. You won't use it."

Smiling at the shocked expression on his face, she said sarcastically, "But if I have to choose between a life with you, and a bullet in the head, I'd prefer you pull that trigger."

Jonathan stood in front of her, utterly dumbfounded. He took a step back and turned his back on her. From his body language, she could tell he was collecting himself, planning something.

"Clever girl and you're right; I won't kill you," he said.

He spun around; she saw the kick coming, partially blocking it as the toe of his boot collided with her right cheekbone. The force of the blow took her breath away and she found herself gasping for air, while she instinctively clutched her face.

"I don't have to kill you," he continued. "Would you like to know why?"

As he loomed over her, Vanessa drove her foot into his groin.

"Fuck you!" she screamed and scrambled to her feet.

Jonathan was keeled over in front of her and she took the opportunity to punch him; just below the cheekbone, almost in the exact spot he had kicked her.

"How do you like it?" she asked as she heard his glasses fall to the floor.

Hoping to finish him off, she moved to strike him again. This time however, he caught her wrist, rising to his feet so quickly, it was shocking. He twisted her arm behind her back awkwardly and began turning her wrist to the breaking point. Vanessa braced herself as she thought it might snap.

"You're insolent, my love; but not to worry. We'll work that out of you in time."

He was pushing her back into the bedroom. Knowing that he was bringing her here to dole out whatever punishment he deemed fit, she fought to get away from him, but the more she struggled, the more her arm ached.

"You interrupted me, Vanessa. I was going to tell you why I don't intend to kill you," his breath quickened as he pushed her through the threshold and directed her towards the bed. "Because if I were to kill you now, then the fun would be over, and besides; what kind of father would I be if I left my little girl without a mother?"

"No," Vanessa cried.

They both looked to the living room simultaneously when they heard Jackson groan. As he began to stir and open his eyes, he looked at her, still not entirely aware of his surroundings.

"Don't worry about him. It will take awhile for the effects of the sedative to wear off and even after they do, he won't be going anywhere. We'll have complete privacy, I assure you," Jonathan said.

"No," she cried again as she was pushed face first onto the mattress and felt the rope that had been intended for Jackson, tighten around her wrists.

What more was there to say?

**Author's Note: Okay, this chapter turned out longer than expected, so I've broken it into two parts. The next one should be posted this weekend.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices and Not Human for their input and support. As always; special thanks to all who have read and reviewed.**


	18. Chapter 18

"_You're supposed to be safe during the day," she kept telling herself. "This can't be happening."_

Wincing as Jonathan tightened the rope around her wrists, Vanessa realized that, like it or not, this _was_ happening.

She was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe with her face pressed into the mattress and she turned her head to the side, trying to get some air. Her hair fell heavily across her face and partially blocked her vision. Vanessa wanted nothing more than to escape into the darkness it provided, but even that avenue was taken from her as Jonathan pushed her hair to the side and the cheerfully lit room was revealed in all its inappropriate glory.

"No hiding today; I want to see you," he whispered in her ear and she felt herself being rolled over.

Jonathan succeeded in turning her, but to her surprise, he didn't lay another hand on her, seeming perfectly content to simply sit next to her on the bed for now.

"Calm down, Vanessa; I want you to relax. You and I have a lot to talk about and I need you to stay rational."

He was still holding the gun in his hand and she watched it warily. Jonathan smiled, first at her, then at the weapon before placing it on the nightstand.

"You were right all along, this isn't for you."

He removed his glasses and carefully laid them next to the gun. His suit coat and tie followed and he neatly folded each item before placing them at the foot of the bed.

Jonathan leaned back against the head board and sighed heavily, "Alone, at last."

Vanessa could see the knife tucked into his belt and quickly recognized it as Jackson's. What had he called it, a K-Bar?

"_This is called a K-Bar, Vanessa, and it cuts through flesh and bone like butter."_

"Do you have any idea how much anger and frustration you've caused me over this past year?" he asked as he lovingly ran his fingers through her hair. "Do you know what it's been like to be so close to you and yet have you out of my reach?

He glanced over at her and shook his head, "You shouldn't even be alive."

Jonathan stretched out on his side, pressing his body against hers as his fingers continued to toy absent mindedly with her hair, "I saw you in Gotham one night, several months ago now. A particularly chilly autumn evening, as I recall," he said, trying to set the scene. "My associates and I had just returned from a trip abroad; a troublesome necessity, I'm afraid, as the supplies I require cannot be found in the continental United States, but I digress. I looked into the rear view mirror, and there you were, walking directly towards me. At first I thought my mind was playing tricks on me or perhaps you were an apparition; but you were _very_ real. You walked right by my window, not even realizing I was there, not with the tinted glass. Yes, you walked right by me and as you passed, I saw your condition. I had a feeling it was my child, but I wasn't one hundred percent sure until Mr. Rippner sent me that locket. She has her father's eyes, does she not?"

He stopped for a moment, staring at the adjacent wall and running his fingers over the locket, _her locket_, which still hung around his neck.

"I couldn't believe you were alone. I knew it had to be fate, and I was prepared to take you right then and there, but fortunately, I realized, before it was too late, that it was indeed, _too_ easy. Someone else was watching you that night, that proverbial thorn in my side; the Bat-man. Can you imagine my anger at being made to feel powerless?"

"Yes," she said suddenly. She'd been made to feel that way many times, mostly at his hands.

"I know you do," he said and kissed her tenderly before she was able to turn away. "But no one is going to take my girls away from me again; my Vanessa, my Ava."

Vanessa gasped at the mention of her daughter.

"Yes, I know her name. Her birth is a matter of public record, you realize; it was so easy to gather information on her. Ava Marie Crane, born February 12th at 7:01 p.m., she weighed 7lbs, 8 oz, and was 21 inches long. Would you like me to go on? I could give you the details of the birth itself. I'm impressed that you declined the epidural, but you always did have a high tolerance for pain."

"Her name is, Ava Martinez," Vanessa spat back at him, ignoring the rest of his inciting comments.

"Don't give her the last name of a dead man, Vanessa. She's my daughter, it's fitting she have my family name."

Vanessaknew full well what he was doing. He was baiting her, instigating an argument for his own twisted reasons. The best response was to simply end the conversation.

Knowing she was on to him, he quickly changed tactics.

"I have a theory, a little hypothesis I've been pondering, and I'd like your input. Something has been troubling me for quite a while now, since the last night I saw you, actually. Why did Batman respond to the silent alarm Bruce Wayne had installed, so quickly? He was there long before the police arrived, almost as if he'd known about it before they did. Why do Bruce Wayne and his security detail guard you during the day, while Batman watches you at night? Those two men seem to work very well together, Vanessa; it makes me wonder if they're one in the same."

She looked away from him and tried to leave her expression blank. He was getting close, too close, to the truth. He wanted far more from her this evening than she had initially thought. As always, he had to have _everything_.

"Am I right, is Bruce Wayne, Batman?"

"No, that would be ridiculous," she lied.

"Ridiculous, well then, it won't matter when I expose him then, will it? I'll tear down that dark façade and when that cloak of secrecy has been stripped away, when he's most vulnerable, I'll kill him."

"Jonathan, please don't, he's not…" she began to say.

"He deserves nothing less. He hid you away from me, kept me from attending my daughter's birth. I plan to make him suffer before he meets his end."

"He was protecting us," she said pleadingly.

"I could be persuaded to keep my mouth shut, provided you're willing to make certain concessions."

"What kind of concessions?" she asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"First, take these contemptible things off," he demanded, pulling off the boxer shorts and tossing them across the room.

Vanessa was thankful she'd put her own underwear back on during the night. Something about wearing Jackson's boxers was a bit too personal and she'd wanted another layer of fabric between her and that garment.

"Second, give yourself to me, wholly and completely. I'll be the only one you talk to, the only man who will ever touch you and the father of your children. Third, said children, will learn all I know. When they're old enough, they'll take their place at my side. Will you consent to that, Vanessa? Would you do that for your beloved Bruce?"

"No," Vanessa said, not taking so much as a second to think it over. Her voice never wavered as she told him, "No person's life is worth more to me than hers. You will _never_ see her, never!"

He studied her for a moment, his mouth hung slightly agape. There was an appearance of anger in his expression, but it quickly gave way to amusement.

"Alright," he said with little emotion as he straddled her, "For Ava's sake, I was willing to give you a second chance, but you've left me with no other alternative."

Pulling the knife from his belt and gripping it tightly in both hands, he raised it high above his head.

"If I won't see her, then neither will you, I'm afraid."

Vanessa shut her eyes tight against the impending blow and realized she'd stopped breathing about thirty seconds ago.

'Say goodbye to your daughter," he said with contempt as he brought the weapon down with all his strength.

**Author's Note: I rewrote this chapter three times and although the story is about to take a dark turn, I'm happy with the outcome. I hope you are too!**

**Thanks to emptyvoices and Not Human for their insight and support.**

**As always, thanks to all who have read and/or reviewed. Keep it up.**


	19. Chapter 19

Vanessa kept her eyes shut tightly as Jonathan repeatedly drove the knife into the mattress, sometimes less than an inch away from her head. She focused solely on her breathing; nothing else mattered to her anymore. Not the rush of air as the blade passed by her face, not the feel of his hand as it roughly grabbed the hem of her t-shirt before he used the knife to slice it open. She didn't move an inch until Jonathan's hand slipped when he reached her neck, leaving her with a deep scratch. She wondered momentarily if it had been an accident.

_He wouldn't damage his prize, would he?_

Vanessa jumped and opened her eyes briefly. Faced with Jonathan's look of utter delight, she quickly closed them again.

"So that's what it is. It's not so much the image of the knife itself, rather the damage it inflicts, that you fear. I actually have to _cut_ you in order to get a reaction."

Vanessa shook her head. She had known he'd find out, she only wished it hadn't happened so quickly.

"You seem a bit disappointed, but don't be," he continued. "Your phobia is perfectly understandable. Now we can truly begin your therapy."

He tapped the knife against her eyelid and she couldn't help but cry out.

"Open your eyes, Vanessa. Open them, or I'll be forced to open them for you," Jonathan threatened.

She could feel the knife as it delicately traced along her eyebrow, she swallowed hard and shut her eyes tighter.

"Open up," he said again, the patience quickly draining from his voice.

Vanessa hesitantly opened her eyes, afraid to make the slightest movement with the knife held precariously over her face.

"There you are," he said with a victorious smile. "You're beautiful when you're frightened."

His eyes glazed over as he stared at her longingly, "Ten months without you, but I remembered _every_ inch of your body; the way you felt, your scent, your taste," he said as he licked his lips in anticipation. "My only consolation during that time was the knowledge that I'd be inside your head forever, even if I never saw you again. Would you like to know why?"

Pretending as though she'd answered him, he continued as his hand traced over the scar on her stomach, "Because you wear my scars upon your body."

His hand dropped lower and he rubbed her lower abdomen in a gentle circular motion, "You gave birth to my child."

He allowed his hand to drop lower still until it settled between her legs. He pressed the heel of his hand roughly against her and said possessively, "and this belongs to me as well."

"Jackson," she yelled as she looked towards the door, willing it to open, hoping against hope that he had somehow managed to free himself from his bonds and would come to the rescue at any moment.

"This is the real world, Vanessa. No one is coming to your aid; not Bruce Wayne, not Batman; certainly not Mr. Rippner – he's tied up at the moment."

Jonathan watched her for the longest time, taking in every detail and choosing his words carefully before he spoke.

"We're going to play a little game now. If you can stay very still, you'll win," he teased as he pressed the tip of the knife against the corner of her eye, so close in fact, that she could feel the blade between her eyelids every time she blinked. It was a terrifying sensation, so she tried her best to stop blinking all together.

"It's very simple," he explained. "There are only two rules. The first, and most important, I might add; no matter what I do, you're not allowed to move."

He grabbed hold of her hair and tugged it hard, laughing when she gasped and the muscles of her neck tightened, desperately trying to hold her head steady, "and second, you're not allowed to close your eyes and pretend you're somewhere else. I want your full participation in this"

He began to shower her with tender kisses. His right hand held the knife steadily against her eye, while the other was free to explore her body. His voice filled with a strange need and longing, as he spoke to her about how much she was desired and how much she'd been missed.

Despite her best efforts, she involuntarily flinched, briefly feeling the sting of the knife before Jonathan pulled it away.

"Uh-uh, that was your one and only chance, Vanessa. Next time, it's for real. Now hold still, Dr. Crane needs to concentrate."

He pressed the knife back against her eye, smiling as she fought to hold still in spite of the tremors that were rapidly spreading throughout her entire body.

Jonathan brought his index and middle fingers to his mouth and licked them suggestively, "I'm aware of your delicate condition. I promise to be gentle."

A single tear slipped down her face as Jonathan's hand slid underneath her panties.

"See, that doesn't hurt, does it?"

"Stop!" she cried.

"Stop, it doesn't _feel_ like you want me to stop. In fact, it feels quite the opposite."

"Jonathan, please."

"No one calls me by that name anymore, Vanessa. From now on, I must insist you address me as Scarecrow."

Vanessa stared at the ceiling, trying to count all the individual cracks and crevices, telling herself it would all be over soon. How much longer would he find amusement in violating her like this? There was nothing more for him to take, if she could just simply endure…..

"Can you do it, Vanessa? Can you hold still while I claim what's mine?" he asked, clearly enjoying every moment of his perceived victory. "We'll find out, won't we?"

Vanessa heard herself sputter several times before she gave into her tears. Still, she did not move her head.

"Oh, the anticipation, it's maddening," he laughed.

He gazed down at her with a burning intensity and she dared not look away.

"That's it, don't fight it; just relax," he breathed heavily.

"Please," she whispered.

"What is the point in fighting, Vanessa? What have you gained besides an extensive collection of scars? Just tell me what I want to hear and we can end all these foolish games."

"I won't…I can't," she began to say.

"Yes, you can," he said urgently. "It's easy, Vanessa. Give in to me, say you're mine. Do that and I'll take care of the rest."

Choking back a sob as he pulled the knife away, she locked eyes with him again.

"I…" she said, while he watched her expectantly, "I'm…"

Jonathan jumped off of her abruptly, grabbing his glasses and the knife from the nightstand as a loud crash, followed by a grunt came from the living room.

Relieved to have the knife out of her face and even more thankful to have Jonathan off of her, Vanessa watched as he opened the door. She saw Jackson, lying on his side, having tipped his chair over in an effort to get free. He wore a solemn, yet defiant expression on his face as he took in the sight of her half-naked, trembling form. He mouthed a single word to her as Jonathan shut the door and approached him.

Lying there, alone on the bed, his word of encouragement echoed in her mind and she drew strength from it.

"Fight," he had told her.

Yes, she would fight and as she heard Jonathan dragging Jackson's chair across the living room floor and into the spare bedroom, she began to strain against her bonds.

**Author's Note: Jackson has a private session with Dr. Crane in the next chapter!**

**Thanks to emptyvoices, Not Human, and everyone who has read and/or reviewed.**


	20. Chapter 20

Jackson dug his heels into the floor as Crane dragged him into the spare bedroom. He couldn't do much else, given the circumstances, but there was no way he was going to make this easy for the good doctor.

Just moments ago, he'd been alone in the living room, forced to listen as Crane tormented Vanessa for what had seemed like hours behind that closed door. Her cries had come to him again and again. They had proven impossible to block out; the anguished cries of a promise made and a promise broken.

_He won't touch you again._

As much as Jackson hated to admit it, Crane was good at what he did. He'd gotten to him, played him for the fool and now Jackson was left frustrated and powerless, not to mention tied to a chair. A fate far worse than any physical assault Crane could dish out, but the doctor had already known as much. Instead, Jackson would be left here, forced to sit and wait until Crane had his fill of Vanessa.

_I failed again; I failed **her**._

Now, he was sitting directly across from the man himself. Watching as Crane straightened his tie and ran his fingers through his hair, all in the name of composure.

"You'll have to forgive me for the wait, Mr. Rippner. I don't normally juggle patients like this, but today, I've had to make an exception."

As Crane slipped his glasses back on, he regarded Jackson with a mix of curiosity and open hostility. A playful smile fell across his face as he looked into Jackson's eyes and said, "You're quite a handsome man, has anyone ever told you that?"

Jackson huffed and shook his head, ignoring this odd compliment, if that's what it could be called. "What did you do to her?" he asked.

"I can't help but wonder why a cold blooded killer, such as you, would even care."

"You're right, I don't; call it morbid curiosity," Jackson replied.

"Oh, I think it runs deeper than that, doesn't it?" his eyes burned into Jackson, endlessly searching, waiting for any hint of emotion. "It's nothing that concerns you, really. Vanessa and I were simply getting reacquainted and that's all thanks to you. I'd be remiss if I didn't say thank you for reuniting me with my family."

Jackson had so many things he wanted to say, but held his tongue, recalling something Vanessa had told her psychiatrist during a therapy session.

_Don't talk to him. Don't let him in._

Crane's gaze alone was disconcerting as he continued to study Jackson as though he was an experiment, but his words could be devastating. Jackson wondered how a man like Crane would handle being ignored.

Not well, was the answer, as Crane brought the index and middle fingers of his left hand up to his mouth, slowly licking each one, seemingly lost in a memory until his focus returned to Jackson. Leaning forward slightly, he sighed.

"She tastes just as sweet as ever," he said with a wink, running his fingers under Jackson's nose. "What do you think?"

Crane quickly swung his legs over to the side as Jackson lashed out at him with his unbound legs. He rose from the bed and tucked his shirt in. Placing the gun on the dresser, he fumbled with his tie again, double checking that it was, in fact, perfectly straight.

"Less than five minutes into our first session and already, I'm inside your head. It's reassuring to know that I haven't lost my touch."

"You're a sick fuck," Jackson seethed.

"Are you making moral judgments, Mr. Rippner? Coming from a man who would kill his own mother for the right price, I find that amusing."

"I don't kill for pleasure. I don't _rape_ defenseless women," Jackson said calmly.

Crane rolled his eyes as if bored and sat down on the bed once more. "Rape; there's that word again. I won't have Vanessa's therapy referred to in such a crude, short-sighted manner. When I first met her, she was catatonic. What those men had done to her had left her so severely traumatized that she could no longer function. I became her judge; setting new limits on what she can endure. Under my guidance, she's flourished, persevered."

As much as he hated to do it, and knowing that Crane would take it as a sign of weakness, Jackson had to look away, though he knew Crane's eyes never left him for a second.

"I must disagree with you on one other point as well. If your therapy is to progress, you'll have to be completely honest with me, and I believe that you're being untruthful. Do you expect me to believe that you would have derived absolutely no pleasure from my death? I think you would have enjoyed it very much; I counted on it. That's why you're the one tied to a chair and I'm the one who'll be returning to Gotham with my family tonight."

"You're delusional," Jackson said.

Ignoring him, Crane went on. "Which begs the question, what did you plan to do with Vanessa when this was over? Were you going to release her, or did you plan on keeping her for yourself?"

He leaned in close again, staying just out of Jackson's range as he continued. "I think it was the later. Which one of us is delusional, Mr. Rippner? Did you think a woman like Vanessa could ever love someone like you? You have your career, my friend, and that's all you'll _ever_ have; no wife, no family, certainly not her," he said pointing towards the door, "that one belongs to me."

"I hate to break it to you, doc, but she's not exactly pining away for you either. Yours is hardly the greatest love story ever told."

"Therein lies the difference between you and I. I don't want her love; I never wanted it; only her fear and respect, of which I believe I have both. I'm quite content with that," he smiled. "But I've been side tracked once again. We're not here to discuss my personal life. I want to talk to you today, about fear. It's a subject I find particularly interesting, in fact, I've based my career on it. No two individuals share the exact same fear, nor do they express their fear in quite the same manner. Fear is very individual and unique. Take Vanessa, for instance. Vanessa fears abandonment. When her husband was killed, it nearly destroyed her. She was afraid to face the world alone. Why do you think she gave into my affections so easily? Why else would she have had the baby?"

"You don't know anything about her," Jackson snarled at him.

"Wrong, I know _everything_ about her. You, on the other hand, you will be a challenge. You've spent years learning how to bury your emotions as a part of your job. Haven't been doing such a good job of it lately though, have you? What changed for you, Mr. Rippner? First Lisa Reisert, now Vanessa, perhaps your heart's not in it anymore?"

With that final statement, Crane grasped the knife in his hand and slashed it across Jackson's chest in an upward, fluid motion. Jackson clenched his jaw, his nostrils flared slightly, but he gave no further reaction.

"Impressive," Crane conceded.

He brought the blade up to Jackson's throat, letting it hover over that telltale scar before dragging it over his chest again, more slowly than before and this time, in a downward arc.

"Yes, your heart is no longer it," Crane repeated, indicating the X he'd just carved across Jackson's chest. Still, Jackson did not flinch.

"Of course, I'm sure the powers that be wouldn't want you talking should you ever be apprehended. I'm willing to bet you've prepared yourself for torture as well. In which case, I'm sure you'll be happy to know that you've outlasted Vanessa. She started crying after the second cut. Poor thing, to this day, I don't understand what all the begging was about."

That wicked smile spread across his face once more. Jackson hadn't been around Crane that long, but he already knew that smile meant Crane was about to say something particularly cruel and demeaning.

"Would you take comfort in knowing that Vanessa cried for _you_ tonight?" he spoke agonizingly slow as he went into more detail. "As I pressed the knife against her face and slowly worked my way inside, she cried for you, more of a whimper really. Do you think your sister whimpered, or was she too chocked up?"

Jackson screamed at him, bearing his teeth, his chest heaving, shaking out of sheer anger as Crane laughed uncontrollably. That laughter was quickly interrupted and Crane appeared stunned, as Jackson spit in his face. It was a nicely aimed projectile that landed squarely on the doctor's cheek.

Crane took a step back, his face reflecting both shock and disgust. Jackson would not have been surprised had the man said, "How rude!" But that was not Crane's reaction. Instead, he used the bed sheets to wipe the saliva from his face, before moving beside Jackson and pressing his right hand flat against the arm of the chair, forcing his fingers into extension.

He held the blade perilously over Jackson's index finger. "Your greatest fear, Mr. Rippner, is the loss of self. Your job defines you, without it, you lose your identity and cease to exist. I'm going to take your identity away. What good is a hit man without his trigger finger?"

Crane continued to stare at him relentlessly and Jackson could feel the man's breath against his face. Jackson turned and met those eyes head on, unafraid.

"Better hurry up and do it. I feel another spit ball forming as we speak."

"Nice attitude, Mr. Rippner. I might even let you live, truly, I haven't decided yet. Perhaps I could leave you in this chair. Your associates will come looking for you eventually. How will they react when they see you've failed again?"

Jackson looked away and prepared himself for the inevitable as Crane leveled the knife over the second joint of his finger.

"The equipment is not sterile and for that, you have my most sincere apologies," Crane teased as he prepared to cut.

He was hovering over Jackson, his back to the door. He didn't see it swing open quietly; he didn't even know Vanessa was there until she jumped on his back, wrapping a twelve inch piece of rope around his neck. The blunt force of her attack, coupled with his sheer surprise, caused him to yell and drop the knife. Jackson breathed a sign of relief, thankful to still be in possession of all ten fingers, as the weapon fell to the floor with a clatter.

Jackson kicked the weapon under the bed and as Crane passed by again, frantically clawing at Vanessa, trying to get her off of him, trying to get to the gun he'd placed on the dresser, Jackson used his foot once more to trip him up. He watched as Crane and Vanessa crashed to the floor, with her on top. Her wordless cries of rage filled the room as Jackson screamed above her.

"Kill him, Vanessa! Kill him!"

**Author's Note: Oh boy, now we're cooking with gas, aren't we? **

**It's so nice when Vanessa kicks ass but I wanted Jackson to get a taste for what she went through while she was Jonathan's "patient". I think it's going to be a life changing experience for him.**

**As always, thanks to Not Human and emptyvoices for their input and a special thanks to all who have taken the time to read and/or review.**


	21. Chapter 21

"That's it, Vanessa. Just hold on a little while longer."

Jackson nearly cheered his words of encouragement as he began to take comfort in the fact that this whole mess would be over with in a couple of minutes.

Crane seemed to have other plans unfortunately, and mustered one last burst of strength. He managed to roll onto his side, throwing Vanessa off balance. Scrambling to his feet, he coughed and began taking in deeps breaths as he braced himself against the dresser, unable to stand without its support. Vanessa lunged at him, jumping onto his back again, but it was too late; Crane had already grabbed the gun. He pointed it over his shoulder and fired blindly. She screamed as the shot rang past her ear and held on in desperation while Crane rammed her against the wall. When he threw himself backwards onto the bed, she lost her grip on his shoulders. Crane stood up quickly, holding his throat with one hand and pointing the gun at her with the other. His surprise surrounding her attack turned to anger and he rushed toward her. Pressing the gun hard against her temple, he forced her down onto the bed.

"Vanessa, my love, so nice of you to drop by; Mr. Rippner and I were just talking about you."

Jackson rocked back and forth in his chair while Vanessa held Crane's undivided attention. It was a rickety piece of furniture, plucked from the clearance shelves of the local Wal-Mart, he hoped it would collapse. He watched with growing fury as Crane ran his hand through Vanessa's hair; a scene perverse in its tenderness, all the while, Jackson worked at the ropes around his wrists.

"Mr. Rippner is very concerned about you. Won't you tell him you're alright, better yet, why don't you show him?" Crane asked, toying with the tattered remnants of her t-shirt.

"Are you trying to get a rise out of me, doc?" Jackson laughed. "I told you, I'm not in the career I am, because I'm a bleeding heart."

"Then this shouldn't bother you a bit," Crane said, running his hand down Vanessa's arm. She responded by grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugged roughly. Crane grunted and backhanded her, still, she fought him; thrashing underneath him, swinging her arms violently. She was handling herself quite well and Jackson was relieved to see her fighting spirit was still intact.

"Ahh, I love the theater, by all means, continue," Jackson laughed.

Crane looked up at him, appearing frustrated and embarrassed. In a rage, he held the gun by its side and slammed it down onto Vanessa's face. Jackson stiffened in his chair when Vanessa cried out, clutching her face as Crane forced her to roll over.

"I'm glad you're enjoying the performance. I only ask that you hold your applause until the end," Crane said with an arrogant smirk.

With that final statement, Crane directed his focus back to Vanessa and pressed her face into the mattress. In an effort to breathe, she turned her head to the side; her and Jackson's eyes locked.

"This position carries special significance for Mr. Rippner, Vanessa. This is how his sister's body was found. Poor Jessica, she was raped and strangled in an alley on her way home from work. Your friend was only 18 at the time and you might say his sister's death had a lasting effect on his life."

"Jackson, I'm so sorry," she said and Jackson found it increasingly difficult to look into those tearful, pleading eyes.

It was the first time she had regarded him with anything other than fear, disappointment or contempt. For a moment, the wall he had worked so hard to build, crumbled and for the first time, she saw something other than the cold blooded killer, she saw _him_.

"Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart; it's in the past. Just keep looking at me, stay with me. You're going to be okay."

She seemed to find solace in his words and when she looked at his wrist, now bloody from straining against the rope, he saw something new in her eyes…hope.

Hearing Jackson's words of comfort, Crane turned her head in the opposite direction and began whispering in her ear. "What would it do to him to see you raped while he watches helplessly? It would be a crushing blow to his ego, I believe."

Crane turned away from her and addressed Jackson, watching as he rocked uselessly in his chair, "What would it do to her I wonder? Do you think being forced to engage in a public sex act would be humiliating enough to break her, Mr. Rippner?"

Jackson stayed calm, methodically straining against his bonds even as Vanessa sobbed and called his name. He had a momentary vision of his sister, lying in that alley, doing the same and drew unexpected strength from his anger. He had said it would never happen again, and god damn it, it was _not_ going to happen again.

He pulled his arm back with all his power. His muscles tensed and with the blood acting as a lubricant, his hand finally slipped free. Regarding it as a miracle, he wasted no time untying his left hand.

Still under the influence of that blind rage, he grabbed Crane by the shoulders and literally threw him across the room. Knowing that Crane still had the gun, Jackson ran into him full force before he had a chance to use it. The two men grappled in the middle of the room; Crane desperate to keep hold of the gun and Jackson, intent of prying it from his hands.

"Vanessa," Jackson yelled. "On the right side of the bed, between the mattress and the box spring, there's a gun; get it!"

Crane took advantage of his momentary distraction and drove his knee into Jackson's stomach. He doubled over and Crane shoved him to the floor. When he looked up, he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

A gentle clicking sound broke the tense silence. Jackson knew that sound, he'd heard it many times before. Judging by Crane's reaction, he knew what it was too and he quickly moved behind Jackson's kneeling form. He kept the gun pressed against the back of Jackson's head, but still kept Vanessa, who now had a gun of her own, clearly in sight.

"Shoot him, Vanessa. What are you waiting for?" Jackson yelled.

"Do you think this man is your friend, Vanessa? Is he the one you would turn to for protection during times like these? Well, I have news for you; even if all of this _had_ gone according to Mr. Rippner's plan, he would not have let you go. He was going to keep you for himself, depriving our daughter of both parents simply to fulfill his own selfish desires."

"That's bullshit! Why would I do that?" Jackson asked.

Vanessa kept the gun fixed on Crane, but her hand began to tremble. Jackson was in a state of shock, unable to fathom why, after all this man had done to her, she could not pull the trigger.

"I don't believe you, Jonathan," she said.

"Think about it rationally for a moment; you've seen his face, you know his name. What assassin would let someone with that knowledge walk away? Besides, he's developed a bit of a soft spot for you. Don't tell me you can't see it, and you must feel something for him as well, or you would have shot me already. Don't deny it; you know I can't be misled."

"Don't listen to this psycho-babble," Jackson yelled in frustration. "What the hell is wrong with you, Vanessa? He just tried to rape you and you're hearing him out!"

Jackson looked up at Vanessa, watching as her eyes remained locked with Crane's.

"Don't read too much into it, young man. Whatever feelings she has for you are fleeting," Crane said while he ruffled Jackson's hair. "Remember what I said about her fear of abandonment; you will quickly be forgotten and I didn't plan on simply shooting you anyway. I have something special in mind."

"If it's anything like what you had planned for Vanessa, I'm not interested," Jackson said sarcastically.

"You're very amusing, Mr. Rippner; I'll make note of that in your file, but no, it's nothing like that. I brought you my latest toxin. I'm quite proud of it. In fact, I used to call it my baby, but we all know that's no longer appropriate," he said, giving Jackson a light tap on the back of the head with the gun before he continued. "You'll be my first human test subject. You're death will not be painful, though it will be prolonged. You see, the toxin causes immediate paralysis, then slowly destroys the never centers of the brain. In two hours, you'll be a vegetable, much like Carmine Falcone. In three hours, you'll succumb to its effects entirely, unless Vanessa can persuade me to give you the antidote. I'd be willing to consider keeping you around as a pet."

"Stop it, Jonathan," Vanessa said. "Move away from him and put the gun down. I'll shoot you where you stand, I swear to God!"

"Shoot me and you would only be trading one captor for another and you will _never_ see Ava again. Give me your gun, Vanessa. We'll leave together and I'll take you to her."

"What do you mean, take me to her?" Vanessa asked.

"I have her, Vanessa. I've had her since last night."

Vanessa jaw dropped, she took a step back and whispered, "No."

"Impossible," Jackson blurted out. "He's playing to your fears, don't fall for it."

"She's such a beautiful child, so even tempered; hardly any trouble at all. That elderly gentleman with the cockney accent on the other hand…"

"Alfred?" she asked, unable to mask the growing concern in her voice.

"Alfred, yes; that was a shame and I was loathe in doing it."

"Doing what? Did you hurt Alfred?"

"I took no pleasure in it, Vanessa. I even went so far as to offer him a job, but he insisted on causing a stir. His death was unavoidable," Crane said as he shook his head. "Such a shame; he was the only civilized one of the bunch and Ava seemed so fond of him. Not like that drunken vigilante you've taken up with. Honestly, Vanessa, how could you allow that dullard near our child?"

"He doesn't have her," Jackson interrupted. "He can't even show his face on the streets of Gotham, how could he have gotten into Wayne Manor?"

"Thanks to you, Vanessa knows first hand that Bruce Wayne's, or should I say, Batman's security is fallible," Crane told him.

"Jonathan, you promised," Vanessa gasped.

"_So, Bruce Wayne is Batman. I'll have to remember that,"_ Jackson thought.

"Don't worry about Mr. Rippner, he hasn't got long."

Vanessa lowered the gun and covered her face with her left hand, trying to conceal her tears. Jackson could hear Crane as he sighed loudly, content with the knowledge that his victory was close at hand.

"How can you even consider this Vanessa? Can you imagine what kind of father he would be; could you spend the rest of your life with him?"

"Never underestimate a woman's maternal instinct. A mother would do anything to protect her child, even if it means sacrificing herself," Crane said.

"He has no proof, Vanessa. What if he's lying?"

"What if I'm not? If you shoot me, then Ava is lost to you. Her parental responsibilities will fall upon my associates. Would you rather they raise her?" he asked.

Vanessa looked up at the ceiling as she wiped the tears from her face with her free hand. Looking as if she were on the verge of defeat, she looked back at Crane. "And if I go with you, Jonathan, will you take me to her?"

"_When_ you go with me, Vanessa, you'll address me as Scarecrow, and yes; I'll take you to her."

"Scarecrow, you actually go by that nickname? I thought it was some kind of joke," Jackson laughed.

He could feel Crane's unease as he shuffled behind him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously. _Looks like I'm inside **your** head now, Crane_.

"Did you tell her how you got that nickname?" Jackson pressed.

"If I were you, Mr. Rippner, I'd hold my tongue."

"Yeah, I bet you would, but then again, you got used to having your ass kicked if you dared to speak up or make eye contact with your fellow classmates. Vanessa's your retribution for all those beatings you took, isn't she? They made you suffer, so she has to suffer; hurting her makes you feel like a man, doesn't it, tough guy?" Jackson asked.

"Shut up," Crane hissed, so angry he was beginning to shake. Vanessa watched both of them as this scene played out. Her expression denoted awe, but Jackson felt reassured when he saw her raise the weapon again.

"What's the matter, Scarecrow? Do rape and torture lose their significance if you know she thinks less of you?"

Jackson jumped when he felt a needle prick the skin on the side of his neck.

"Get away from him, Jonathan," Vanessa screamed. She took several steps forward and pointed the gun straight at Crane's head.

"Your daughter, remember?" Crane replied as he depressed the plunger.

Jackson felt the toxin flowing through his veins and fell flat on his back when Crane stepped out from behind him. His vision became blurry and it was almost impossible to breathe, let alone move. It sounded like she was a million miles away, but he distinctly heard Vanessa scream, "No!" Seconds later, gun fire rang out. Jackson heard no less than four shots as the screaming continued, but by this point, he was not longer able to make out what was being said, nor could he turn his head to see what was happening.

As the toxin continued its assault on his central nervous system and his eyes involuntarily closed, a final thought reverberated through his mind,

_Good luck, sweetheart…_

**Author's Note: Thanks for emptyvoices and Not Human for their support and thank you again to everyone who has read and/or reviewed.**

**The story is coming to an end, so stay with me!**


	22. Chapter 22

Jackson woke up late that afternoon, amazed that he'd woken up at all. He stood up slowly and almost immediately fell back down. The sun was shining brightly outside; there was not a single cloud in the sky, but he still felt like he'd been run over by a truck. He wound up crawling to the window on his hands and knees, lacking the strength to do anything else. Slowly, he attempted to stand a second time. Feeling rather unsteady on his legs as he braced himself against the windowsill, he peered outside. Crane's car was gone and Jackson's heart sank to the floor.

"Vanessa," he said softly as his head came to a rest against the window pane.

For the first time, in a long time, he was feeling something that closely resembled guilt. He had let her down in every possible way. Every promise he'd ever made to her had been broken. Of course, that's why Crane had decided to give him the antidote. Living with these newfound emotions while he waited for the police or his employers to catch up with him was far worse than anything Crane could have done. After they had finished working him over, he'd be begging for another sample of that toxin. Really, he deserved nothing less.

But where would that leave Vanessa? The simple fact remained that Crane still had her and where was this self-defeating attitude coming from anyway? It was not like Jackson to simply give up.

_I'll go after them. I won't stop until I get her back._

He turned himself around and started towards the door. Crane may have had a good head start, but there were only so many places in Gotham for a man like him to hide. Sooner, rather than later, Crane would slip up and make his presence known; especially if he went after his daughter.

The body lying in the middle of the floor didn't even register until he nearly tripped over it; something he would later attribute to the after effects of the toxin. Lying curled up against the wall in a fetal position, it was covered in a blood stained comforter; a tuft of black hair was the only part of the body that was visible.

Crane had done it, he had finally killed her. Jackson collapsed onto the bed and stared at the wall, unsure of what to do. Never in a million years, did he think that Crane would have fired a fatal shot. He had wanted her so badly. He _needed_ her; how else could he fill his insatiable need to dominate? But when it came right down to it, the man probably valued self-preservation above all else.

With great hesitation, he approached, feeling something akin to fear when he thought of pulling the cover away, as if somehow her death wouldn't be real until he saw the body. Swallowing these feelings of apprehension, he crouched down beside her.

_Well, I promised to take you home. That's one promise I can keep._

She deserved a proper burial. People, particularly her daughter, needed to know what had become of her. Despite his weakened state, he attempted to lift her body.

The moment he touched it, he knew something was wrong. The size, the shape, the feel of it…this was not Vanessa. He breathed a sigh of relief and pulled back the cover.

There was Crane's body, lying pale and lifeless on the bedroom floor. If Jackson hadn't felt so sluggish, he would have clapped his hands and danced around the room. Never in his life had his emotions shifted so dramatically in such a short period of time.

_I bet death came as quite a shock to you; didn't it, you arrogant bastard?_

Jackson studied the dead man with morbid interest. Jonathan Crane, the tyrant who had walked the halls of Arkham and struck fear in the hearts of murderers twice his size, was nothing more than a frail, underfed man; dressed in so many layers of clothing it boggled the mind. Now that those astucious blue eyes were closed forever, Crane had lost his menace and Jackson couldn't help but wonder how a man like this had gotten the better of him.

He couldn't believe it had it taken him so long to realize Vanessa was alive. All the signs were there; a pillow and a blanket lay where he had been for God's sake. Crane certainly wouldn't have done that.

She must have gone through Crane's things out of necessity. After what had been Crane's first attempt at abduction and Vanessa's second attempt at escape, Jackson had hidden the keys to both his vehicles. She had found the antidote and the keys to Crane's car while rifling through his belongings.

Vanessa had saved his life.

He walked into the living room, feeling the cold air hit him like a brick wall. The door was wide open, just as Crane had left it when he'd followed Jackson inside and that's why Vanessa had been able to leave.

It would have taken her roughly four hours to get back to Gotham. Assuming she alerted the police immediately, he might have another two hours before local law enforcement showed up on his doorstep. He needed to disappear as soon as possible and cover his tracks well.

Jackson retrieved his Polaroid camera from the kitchen table and snapped several pictures of Crane's body. As he made his way outside, Jackson stopped and picked up Crane's glasses which had been lying in the middle of the floor. He would keep these as a souvenir; a reminder of what could happen if he lost his focus again.

After depositing the pictures and glasses in the back seat of the Escape, he made his way to the back of the house and pulled a 5 gallon container of gasoline from underneath the porch. It had always been his intention to bring Vanessa home when his job was completed. This trailer had served him well many times in the past, but with the growing number of vacation homes in the area and Vanessa's knowledge of its location, it had been rendered useless.

Jackson poured the fluid around the perimeter of the home and walked back inside. He covered every inch of the dwelling with accelerant, saving a generous dose for the room Crane's body occupied.

As he stepped outside, he lit a match and at that exact moment, felt a strong breeze pick up. It blew out the flame and entered the home, creating an eerie moan as went. Jackson didn't really think much of it, until a scraping sound coming from the living room caught his attention. He cautiously walked inside, searching for the source of the noise. He turned and started towards the bedroom when he heard it again. Just as he was about to step inside, a slip of paper, carried by that same ghostly wind, came to a rest by his foot and he allowed himself to relax as he picked it up.

It was the picture he'd taken of Vanessa when she'd been chained to the bathroom sink. She had hated him then; her eyes were filled with disgust. Not the way he cared to remember her, but it was all he had until their paths crossed again. Truthfully, he should have let it burn along with everything else, instead he put it in his pocket and lit another match, tossing it to the ground as he closed another chapter in his life.

He started the car and slowly drove away, watching the blaze from his rear view mirror as he did so.

Two days; they had been there only two days. Why did if seem like it had been a lifetime and why did he feel so empty inside now that she was gone?

_Because we've seen each others souls and we understand each others pain._

Jackson made his way back to Gotham, listening to the local news channels along the way. It was breaking news that Vanessa had escaped her kidnapper and driven herself back to Gotham. She was suffering from various cuts and bruises, but physically, she was going to be fine. When the police discovered she had driven Crane's car, they assumed he had taken her. Judging by the news reports, she had yet to tell them any different.

The reports went on to say that Vanessa would soon be reunited with her daughter, who was safe and sound and still in the care of Bruce Wayne, just as Jackson knew she would be.

When he arrived back in town and delivered the pictures of Crane to Falcone's family, they had been pleased; so pleased in fact, that they had asked Jackson to join their ranks on a permanent basis. He'd wear many hats; enforcer, body guard, personal hit man. Not much different from his old job really, except now, he would be respected. He wasn't a washed up assassin remembered solely for one mistake made on a turbulent flight from Dallas to Miami two years ago. Finally, his skills would be appreciated and more importantly, he would stay in and around Gotham. His targets would no longer be politicians and their families; they would be thugs, rival mob bosses and other people more deserving of his wrath. Ridding the world of these criminals was practically a public service.

Jackson decided to give Vanessa time before he spoke to her again. Time to rest, time to be with her child, but he always kept an eye on her whenever possible. No one came near her home. It seemed that there would be no reprisals for Crane's disappearance.

Four months passed and she seemed to be doing well, although she still lived only with her daughter. She hadn't moved in with Bruce Wayne and Jackson wondered what was stopping her.

He would see her soon enough and when that day came; she would answer all his questions. Why had she saved his life? Why did she lie to protect him? Had she known all along that he would come back?

As he pondered that last question, Jackson stood in front of the mirror and shuddered. He looked like hell, but that was the point. Since he'd come back to Gotham, he hadn't shaved or cut his hair. He was sporting a rather impressive beard and his hair was shaggy, falling in greasy strands over his eyes. A pair of tattered jeans, a torn t-shirt, and a flack jacket completed the look. For the places he was about to go, one did not need to dress formally.

Thanks to a set of misplaced car keys, he left five minutes later than expected, but he was _always_ misplacing his car keys these days; it had been happening ever since he came back to the city. Thanks to Vanessa, that seemed to be the only lasting effect the toxin had had on him.

As he stepped onto the sidewalk and passed the newspaper stand, a headline caught his attention,

"Drunken Playboy and Former Mental Patient Open Jessica's House,"

_Damn media…_

Though the headline was mean spirited, the article was surprisingly informative. With Vanessa's guidance and Bruce Wayne's funding, Jessica's House – a home for battered women and their families – would be opened next month. Jackson was moved by what he read and found himself staring at her picture, which graced the front page of the paper.

"Hey, buddy; less looking, more buying," the attendant yelled.

"_You're lucky there are witness's around,"_ Jackson thought as he handed the ornery man a dollar.

Jackson tossed the paper onto the passenger seat of his car and looked at her picture occasionally as he drove into the heart of the Narrows – the home of his latest targets. He'd been tracking these two scumbags for over a month now. They weren't difficult to find; a few direct questions to some of their associates who shall remain nameless, and now thanks to Jackson, lifeless, had led him right to them. This wasn't work however; this was strictly personal.

He had come to realize rather quickly, that he was indebted to Vanessa and had racked his brain in search of an adequate form of payback. The answer, it would seem, was right under his nose.

If Vanessa's friend Jim hadn't been a one man police force in this slightly improved, yet still thoroughly corrupt town, he could have found them a year ago. If Bruce Wayne loved her as much as he claimed, he could have done it as well. With all Wayne's resources, Jackson found it disgusting that these men were still alive. But the Batman would never kill in cold blood, foolishly believing that justice was more important than revenge.

Call it what you want, the men who had wronged Vanessa were still thriving in the Narrows, only blocks from her home. That would no longer be allowed.

Tonight, _he_ would correct a grave injustice.

Tonight, he would set things right…..

**Author's Note: I wanted to thank all of you for your wonderful reviews. I'm really honored that you've taken the time to read my story and that you've enjoyed it as well.**

**Special thanks to emptyvoices, for being my sounding board and Not Human for her support and encouragement.**

**I'm really excited about the next chapter; evil, unmerciful Jackson makes his presence known to a couple of deserving lowlifes. Those who have read Be Still My Beating Heart, will know of whom I speak. Can we say _payback_ boys and girls?**


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: I don't normally leave notes at the beginning of a chapter, but I wanted to warn you all that there is some foul language and some violence ahead. I don't think it's enough to bump me up to an M rating, but I wanted to give a warning, just incase. Read on……**

He found the two of them in an alley, chatting up a couple of hookers in an attempt to trade drugs for sex. Jackson, pretending to be oblivious to the matter, walked over to the group and tapped the older of the two men on the shoulder.

"What do you want?" he asked as he turned around.

"What does everyone in the Narrows want?" Jackson asked, turning to his left and addressing the women. "Either drugs or sex, and I'm not in the mood for fish tonight."

His crude and sarcastic remark had the desired effect and the two women glared at him, put off by what he'd said. One of them was about to fire off a remark of her own, when the men shooed both of them away, knowing a quick sale when they saw it.

"Lets get down to business then," the younger man said. "How much are you looking to buy?"

"How much have you got?"

The young man stepped back, regarding him with open skepticism.

"Are you a cop?" he asked.

"Do I look like a fucking cop?" Jackson responded, pointing to his less than stunning attire.

"If you are a cop, you have to tell me; otherwise, it's entrapment. Isn't that right, Dave?"

He looked over at his friend, who Jackson now knew as Dave and watched as the man shrugged his shoulders.

"How the hell should I know?" Dave asked.

"Look, I'm not a cop, okay? Trust me, I never lie."

"Hey, Dave; Abe Lincoln over here, never tells a lie! Step inside my office, Honest Abe and I'll show you what I've got. The name's Jeff, by the way."

"You can call me, Jackson."

"Okay, Jackson, right this way," Jeff said, reaching new levels of civility at the prospect of a big sale.

His "office" as he called it, was located further down the alley, consisting of a series of refrigerator boxes, milk crates and an empty garbage can.

"I want a sample before I buy. I think that's only fair," Jackson insisted.

"Only if you let me join you," Jeff responded, taking a small bag of white powder from his back pocket.

Jackson flipped one of the milk crates over and set the newspaper down on top of it. "Let me set the table," he joked.

The two men sat on either side of him and lit cigarettes. The older man, Dave, was fairly nondescript. Judging by his yellow teeth and hoarse voice, he'd been a smoker for at least 20 years. He was carrying about 40 extra pounds and his sizeable gut spilled out over his belt, but he was otherwise unremarkable. Jeff, on the other hand, was trash; plain and simple. Tall and lanky, it didn't appear that he had seen a dentist…well, ever. A chain smoker like his friend, he had a nasty habit of balancing his cigarette between one of the various gaps in his teeth as he spoke. From the smell of things, he showered once or twice a year. His hair was mangy and he scratched at his scalp incessantly, bothered by the lice that infested his hair, causing it to fall out in large clumps, no doubt. He was a vile, disgusting excuse for a human being. Sitting next to him made Jackson want to wretch; the thought that this pig may have been the one that raped Vanessa made his blood boil.

He knew only one of the men had had a chance to assault her before Gordon had shown up, and he wanted to confirm which one it had been. Both of them would die tonight, he'd see to that, but Jackson had special plans for the one who had raped her.

When the men saw Vanessa's picture on the front page, they burst into laughter and fell right into his trap.

"Well, look, who it is," Dave said.

"Oh, yeah, it's our special little friend," Jeff laughed, directing Jackson's attention to the open newspaper. "See that Puerto Rican chick on the cover of that paper? I fucked her."

_She's Chilean, not Puerto Rican, you ignorant, unwashed piece of filth; but at least now I know it was you_

"Yeah, right," Jackson said. "You couldn't get laid in a morgue. No way, would a girl like that give you the time of day."

"She didn't really have a say in the matter, if you know what I mean."

"That's not right, man," Jackson said, acting unconcerned at the way this man bragged about hurting Vanessa with such callous exuberance.

"Oh, fuck you," Jeff fired back. "She had it coming. If that little bitch owned anything worth selling, I wouldn't have done it. I took the time to case that joint, I needed _something_ for my trouble. The little whore mouthed off to me anyway; I just gave her what she deserved."

"Hey, it was my idea to put the bag over her head," Dave chimed in.

"That's right, my man. That bag….," Jeff laughed as he reminisced. "It makes a woman move in ways you can't imagine; like riding a bull, my friend, like riding a bull."

"Tell him about the part where she left you with blue balls, Jeff."

"Will you shut up?" Jeff yelled as his face flushed with embarrassment.

Dave wasn't done with his teasing, however, and continued with his version of events.

"Dumb ass, here, didn't use a silencer to shoot her husband, so the neighbors called the damn police. He didn't get to finish, and worst of all, I didn't get _my_ turn."

Jackson just took it all in, allowing the men to dig their own graves as the anger inside of him erupted into a raging inferno. He knew damn well that Vanessa would have been dead by the time this slob had gotten a chance at her; not that her death would have stopped him.

"Relax; I told you, we'll go back one of these days," Jeff cajoled. "She still lives in Gotham; she never left, and I hear she has a daughter now. There'll be one for each of us, Dave."

They all shared a hearty laugh, but for completely different reasons. Unlike Jeff, who Dave had most accurately described as a dumb ass, Jackson had his silencer in place. He reached behind his back discreetly and grasped his pistol, which was cleverly concealed underneath his oversized jacket.

"You're right, sometimes people just need to be put in their place," Jackson said.

"Finally, a man who understands," Jeff announced and the men erupted in laughter again.

In a single, fluid motion, Jackson pointed the gun straight at Dave's head and pulled the trigger. The fat bastard never even heard the shot that tore half his face off. Blood and grey matter splattered onto the cardboard boxes and Jeff fell backwards, scrambling across the alley until his back met the wall.

"What are you doing?" he asked frantically as Jackson turned the gun on him.

"What does it look like? He didn't rape her, so he got a quick death. You on the other hand….stand up."

Jeff rose to his feet, raising his hands above his head as if he expected Jackson to put him in handcuffs and take him down to the police station.

_Sorry, buddy; there's no chance of surrender._

"Why?' Jeff asked

"Because that whore, that bitch you were talking about, is someone I care about very much. If you had just broken into her house and stolen her things, I would have let it go. Hell, I don't even care that you killed her husband; but you just couldn't keep it in your pants, could you? You had to rape her. That was a huge mistake, my friend."

In desperation, Jeff started rifling through his pockets, throwing drugs and money onto the ground.

"Money; I'll give you money."

"Not interested," Jackson said.

"What do you want? I'll give you anything, just don't kill me. Please, don't kill me!" he begged.

Jackson scoffed at the man, who now had tears in his eyes as he continued pleading for his life.

_How does it feel, you bastard?_

"Take off you pants and turn around," Jackson ordered.

Jeff's eyes widened, horrified at what Jackson had in store for him.

"Do it," Jackson yelled when Jeff hesitated.

The frightened man turned his back to Jackson and dropped his pants to his ankles. "You're not going to rape me, are you?" he asked sheepishly as Jackson approached.

Faced with Jeff's pathetic cowardice, Jackson couldn't help but laugh as he readied a plastic bag of his own.

"Do I look that desperate?" he asked, quickly wrapping the bag around Jeff's head and kicking his legs out from under him.

Jackson squatted on Jeff's shoulders, using his knees to pin the man's arms to the ground as he fought. Less than thirty seconds passed before he began to thrash about violently, half out of his mind due to lack of oxygen. Jackson held fast as he was thrown back and forth and side to side.

"You're right, Jeff; it is like riding a bull."

Jeff's body gave up the fight after a few minutes but Jackson left the bag in place knowing that the man was most likely not quite dead yet. He rolled him over and kicked this wretched excuse for a man in the stomach before he lowered the gun on him and fired twice. Jackson scanned the surrounding area for witnesses; there were none and he quickly left the scene.

Now finding two drug dealers dead in the back alleys of the Narrows was about as rare as the sun coming up each morning. But when one of them was found with a plastic bag wrapped around his head and two bullets in his groin…that was front page news.

Jackson wondered if Vanessa would see the headlines. Would she read about the plastic bag and make the connection? Would she know what he had done for her?

Maybe now, they were even. Maybe now, he could get her out of his head…..


	24. Epilogue

He had changed his look after that night, losing the beard and cutting his hair short again. Word had gotten out quickly that Jonathan Crane had been rubbed out by Falcone's family and Jackson no longer ran the risk of being mistaken for the late doctor. Wigs and contact lenses were no longer needed; sunglasses served as an adequate disguise and thanks to the long summer days, he could wear them comfortably until late in the evening.

Jackson stood outside the door to her apartment with a small box in his hand, torn over whether or not he should knock. Eventually, he decided against it. He thought it would be best to leave the locket outside her door and disappear from her life forever. He understood now that there was a difference between what he _wanted_ and what was right; leaving her alone, was the _right_ thing to do.

"_Why would she want someone like me hanging around anyway?"_ he wondered while he waited for the elevator

The doors opened and there she was, searching through her purse for her house keys and almost running him over with her stroller in the process.

"Oh excuse me; I'm so sorry, I…..Jackson?"

"Hi, sweetheart," he smiled.

"What are you doing here?"

"I, I brought you something," he said, pointing at her front door. "It's your locket. I thought you might want it back."

"Oh, thanks," she said softly, looking in on her daughter as she stepped out of the elevator. "She's sleeping; going for walks always does the trick."

As Vanessa brushed by him, he turned and followed her to the front door. After all that they had been through together, Jackson couldn't understand why seeing her again felt so awkward.

"You saved my life," he managed to blurt out.

"You're not here to make me regret it, are you?" she asked, watching him with sudden trepidation.

"No, I just wanted to know why."

"Well, maybe I thought there was something inside of you that was worth saving," she said with what seemed like relief as she picked up the box.

"You haven't moved in with Bruce yet, why?" he asked.

"He's angry with me at the moment. I kind of told him that I lied to the police about being in shock so you could get away and then I kind of asked him not to go looking for you," she said while she twiddled her thumbs.

"The truth is hard to accept sometimes, but it's always better to be honest. He'll come around, Vanessa."

"Promise me something, Jackson."

"What?"

"Keep the secret; don't tell anyone who he is."

"You know I will," he said as he approached her. "I'll do it for you."

Jackson cupped her face in his hands and she stiffened as he moved closer. He could see her discomfort but he could also see the underlying trust she had in him. He did not betray that trust, allowing his kiss to fall gently on her forehead.

"Goodbye, Vanessa."

He released her, somewhat reluctantly, and walked back to elevators, listening as she unlocked her front door.

The elevator doors opened and he was about to step inside, when he heard her call out to him.

"Jackson," she said quietly, not wanting to wake the child. "Keep in touch and please, try to stay out of trouble. I worry about you."

He looked at her with mock surprise as if to say "who, me?" and she rolled her eyes at him.

"If you ever need me, sweetheart, I'll be here," he said, letting his tone grow serious.

"Likewise," she responded.

He winked at her and leaned against the elevator wall after the doors closed, letting out a deep sigh. Feelings like the ones he had for her were a liability. The last thing in the world he needed was a friend, or whatever you wanted to call her.

"_Oh well,"_ he thought as he walked down the street, moments later, filled with a strange melancholy. "_If I can sustain this relationship with her…maybe there's hope for me yet?"_

**Author's Note: Well, we've reached the end. I hope you enjoyed the story and this won't be the last you've heard from me. I've got a few stories in the works and I hope to start posting again shortly.**

**A big thank you to emptyvoices, for giving such great advice, and Not Human, for her constant support.**

**Thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review. It means a lot to me.**


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